Magician (10th Aniversary Edition)

by Raymond E. Feist

  The Princess frowned for a moment as she digested the information. Then, with a bright smile, she said, “That’s good. I’d not want to marry a man who’s not nice.” With a giggle she turned the corner and was gone.

  Pug sat awhile longer, watching the snow fall, musing over the fact of children being concerned about matters of state, and over a child with big, serious green eyes.

  That night the entire party was feted by the Prince. The whole population of nobles at court and most of the rich commoners of Krondor were attending the gala. Over four hundred people sat to dine, and Pug found himself at a table with strangers who, out of respect for the quality of his clothing and the simple fact of his being there in the first place, politely ignored him. The Duke and Prince Arutha were seated at the head table with Prince Erland and his wife, Princess Alicia, along with Duke Dulanic, Chancellor of the Principality and Knight-Marshal of Krondor. Owing to Erland’s ill health, the business of running Krondor’s military fell to Dulanic and the man he was deep in conversation with, Lord Barry, Erland’s Lord-Admiral of the Krondonan fleet. Other royal ministers were seated nearby, while the rest of the guests were at smaller tables. Pug was seated at the one farthest removed from the royal table.

  Servants were bustling in and out of the hall, carrying large platters of food and decanters of wine. Jongleurs strolled the hall, singing the newest ballads and ditties. Jugglers and acrobats performed between the tables, mostly ignored by the dinner guests, but giving their best, for the Master of Ceremony would not call them back again should he judge their efforts lacking.

  The walls were covered with giant banners and rich tapestries. The banners were of every major household in the Kingdom, from the gold and brown of Crydee in the far west, to the white and green of far Ran, in the east. Behind the royal table hung the banner of the Kingdom, a golden lion rampant holding a sword, with a crown above his head, upon a field of purple, the ancient crest of the conDoin kings. Next to it hung Krondor’s banner, an eagle flying above a mountain peak, silver upon the royal purple. Only the Prince, and the King in Rillanon, could wear the royal color. Borric and Arutha wore red mantles over their tunics, signifying they were princes of the realm, related to the royal family. It was the first time Pug had ever seen the two wearing the formal marks of their station.

  Everywhere were sights and sounds of gaiety, but even from across the room Pug could tell that the talk at the Prince’s table was subdued. Borric and Erland spent most of the dinner with their heads close together, speaking privately.

  Pug was startled by a touch on his shoulder and turned to see a doll-like face peering through the large curtains not two feet behind him. Princess Anita put her finger to her lips and beckoned for him to step through. Pug saw the others at the table were looking at the great and near-great in the room and would scarcely notice the departure of a nameless boy. He rose and moved through the curtain, finding himself in a small servants’ alcove. Before him was another curtain, leading to the kitchen, Pug supposed, through which peeked the tiny fugitive from bed Pug moved to where Anita waited, discovering it was, indeed, a long connecting corridor between the kitchen and the great hall. A lengthy table covered with dishware and goblets ran along the wall.

  Pug said, “What are you doing here?”

  “Shush!” she said in a loud whisper. “I’m not supposed to be here.”

  Pug smiled at the child. “I don’t think you have to worry about being heard, there’s too much noise for that.”

  “I came to see the Prince. Which one is he?”

  Pug motioned for her to step into the small alcove, then drew aside the curtain a little. Pointing at the head table, he said, “He’s two removed from your father, in the black-and-silver tunic and red mantle.”

  The child stretched up on tiptoe and said, “I can’t see.”

  Pug held the girl up for a moment. She smiled at him. “I am in your debt.”

  “Not at all,” Pug intoned with mock gravity. They both giggled.

  The Princess started as a voice spoke close to the curtain. “I must fly!” She darted through the alcove, passed through the second curtain, and disappeared from sight heading toward the kitchen and her getaway.

  The curtain into the banquet hall parted, and a startled servant stared at Pug. Uncertain what to say, the servingman nodded. The boy by rights shouldn’t be there, but by his dress he was certainly someone.

  Pug looked about and, without much conviction, finally said, “I was looking for the way to my room. I must be going the wrong way.”

  “The guest wing is through the first door on the left in the dining hall, young sir. Ah . . . this way lies the kitchen. Would you care to have me show you the way?” The servant obviously didn’t care to do so, and Pug was equally lacking any desire for a guide. “No, thank you, I can find it,” he said.

  Pug rejoined his table, unnoticed by the other guests. The balance of the meal passed without incident, except for an occasional strange glance by a servingman.

  Pug passed the time after dinner talking with the son of a merchant. The two young men found each other in the crowded room where the Prince’s after-dinner reception was being held. They spent a fitful hour being polite to one another, before the boy’s father came and took him in tow. Pug stood around being ignored by the Prince’s other dinner guests for a while, then decided he could slip back to his own quarters without affronting anyone—he wouldn’t be missed. Besides he hadn’t seen the Prince, Lord Borric, or Kulgan since they left the dinner table. Most of the reception seemed under the supervision of a score of household officials and Princess Alicia, a charming woman who had spoken politely with Pug for a moment as he passed through the reception line. Pug found Kulgan waiting for him in his room when he returned.

  Kulgan said, without preamble, “We leave at first light, Pug. Prince Erland is sending us on to Rillanon to see the King.”

  Pug said, “Why is the Prince sending us?” His tone was cross, for he was deeply homesick.

  Before Kulgan could answer, the door flew open and Prince Arutha came storming in Pug was surprised by Arutha’s expression of unconfined anger.

  “Kulgan! There you are,” Arutha said, slamming the door. “Do you know what our royal cousin is doing about the Tsurani invasion?”

  Before Kulgan could speak, the Prince supplied the answer. “Nothing! He won’t lift a finger to send aid to Crydee until Father has seen the King. That will take another two months at least.”

  Kulgan raised his hand. Instead of an adviser to the Duke, Arutha saw one of his boyhood instructors. Kulgan, like Tully, could still command both sons of the Duke when the need arose. “Quietly, Arutha.”

  Arutha shook his head as he pulled over a chair. “I am sorry, Kulgan I should have mastered my temper.” He noticed Pug’s confusion. “I apologize to you also, Pug. There is much involved here that you don’t know of Perhaps . . .” He looked questioningly at Kulgan.

  Kulgan took out his pipe. “You might as well tell him, he’s going along for the journey. He’ll find out soon enough.”

  Arutha drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair for a moment, then sitting forward, said, “My father and Erland have been conferring for days on the best way to meet these outworlders should they come. The Prince even agrees it is likely they will come.” He paused. “But he will do nothing to call the Armies of the West together until he has been given permission by the King.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Pug. “Aren’t the Armies of the West the Prince’s to command as he sees fit?”

  “No longer,” said Arutha with a near-grimace. “The King sent word, less than a year ago, that the armies may not be mustered without his permission.” Arutha sat back in his chair as Kulgan blew a cloud of smoke. “It is in violation of tradition. Never have the Armies of the West had another commander than the Prince of Krondor, as the Armies of the East are the King’s.”

  Pug was still unclear about the significance of all this. Kulgan said
, “The Prince is the King’s Lord-Marshal in the West, the only man besides the King who may command Duke Borric and the other Knight-Generals. Should he call, every Duke from Malac’s Cross to Crydee would respond, with their garrisons and levies. King Rodric, for his own reasons, has decided that none may gather the armies without his authority.”

  Arutha said, “Father would come to the Prince’s call, regardless, as would the other Dukes.”

  Kulgan nodded. “That may be what the King fears, for the Armies of the West have long been more the Prince’s armies than the King’s. If your father called, most would gather, for they revere him nearly as much as they revere Erland. And if the King should say not . . .” He let the sentence slip away.

  Arutha nodded. “Strife within the Kingdom.”

  Kulgan looked at his pipe. “Even to civil war, perhaps.”

  Pug was troubled by the discussion. He was a keep boy, in spite of his newly acquired title. “Even if it is in defense of the Kingdom?”

  Kulgan shook his head slowly. “Even then. For some men, kings also, there is as much importance in the manner in which things are done as the doing.” Kulgan paused. “Duke Borric will not speak of it, but there has long been trouble between himself and certain eastern dukes, especially his cousin, Guy du Bas-Tyra. This trouble between the Prince and the King will only add to the strain between West and East.”

  Pug sat back. He knew that this was somehow more important than what he was understanding, but there were blank places in his picturings of the way things were. How could the King resent the Prince’s summoning the armies in defense of the Kingdom? It didn’t make sense to him, in spite of Kulgan’s explanation. And what sort of trouble in the East was Duke Borric unwilling to speak of?

  The magician stood. “We have an early day tomorrow, so we had best get some sleep. It will be a long ride to Salador, then another long passage by ship to Rillanon. By the time we reach the King, the first thaw will have come to Crydee.”

  Prince Erland bade the party a good journey as they sat upon their horses in the courtyard of the palace. He looked pale and deeply troubled as he wished them well.

  The little Princess stood at an upstairs window and waved at Pug with a tiny handkerchief. Pug was reminded of another Princess and wondered if Anita would grow to be like Carline or be more even-tempered.

  They rode out of the courtyard, where an escort of Royal Krondonan Lancers stood ready to accompany them to Salador. It would be a three weeks’ ride over the mountains and past the marshes of Darkmoor, past Malac’s Cross—the dividing point between the western and eastern realms—and on to Salador. There they would take ship, and after another two weeks they would reach Rillanon.

  The lancers were shrouded in heavy cloaks of grey, but the purple-and-silver tabards of Krondor’s Prince could be seen underneath, and their shields bore the device of the royal Krondorian household. The Duke was being honored by an escort of the Prince’s own household guard, rather than a detachment from the city garrison.

  As they left the city, the snow began to fall once more, and Pug wondered if he would ever see spring in Crydee again. He sat quietly on his horse as it plodded along the road east, trying to sort out the impressions of the last few weeks, then gave up, resigning himself to whatever was to happen.

  The ride to Salador took four weeks instead of three, for there had been a storm of unusual intensity in the mountains west of Darkmoor. They had been forced to take lodging at an inn outside the village that took its name from the marshes. It had been a small inn, and they had all been forced to crowd together regardless of rank for several days. The food had been simple and the ale indifferent, and by the time the storm passed, they were all glad to leave Darkmoor behind.

  Another day had been lost when they chanced upon a village being troubled by bandits. The sight of approaching cavalry had driven the brigands away, but the Duke had ordered a sweep of the area to insure that they didn’t return as soon as the soldiers rode off. The villagers had opened their doors to the Duke’s party, welcoming them and offering their best food and warmest beds. Poor offerings by the Duke’s standards, yet he received their hospitality with graciousness, for he knew it was all they had. Pug enjoyed the simple food and company, the closest yet to home since he had left Crydee.

  When they were a half day’s ride short of Salador, they encountered a patrol of city guards. The guard captain rode forward. Pulling up his horse, he shouted, “What business brings the Prince’s guard to the lands of Salador?” There was little love lost between the two cities, and the Krondorians rode without a heraldic banner. His tone left no doubt that he regarded their presence as an infringement upon his territory.

  Duke Borric threw back his cloak, revealing his tabard. “Carry word to your master that Borric, Duke of Crydee, approaches the city and would avail himself of Lord Kerus’s hospitality.”

  The guard captain was taken aback. He stammered, “My apologies, Your Grace. I had no idea . . . there was no banner . . . .”

  Arutha said dryly, “We mislaid it in a forest sometime back.”

  The captain looked confused. “My lord?”

  Borric said, “Never mind, Captain. Just send word to your master.”

  The captain saluted. “At once, your Grace.” He wheeled his horse and signaled for a rider to come forward. He gave him instructions, and the soldier spurred his horse toward the city and soon galloped out of sight.

  The captain returned to the Duke. “If Your Grace will permit, my men are at your disposal.”

  The Duke looked at the travel-weary Krondorians, all of whom seemed to be enjoying the captain’s discomfort. “I think thirty men-at-arms are sufficient, Captain. The Salador city guard is renowned for keeping the environs near the city free of brigands.”

  The captain, not realizing he was being made sport of, seemed to puff up at this. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  The Duke said, “You and your men may continue your patrol.”

  The captain saluted again and returned to his men. He shouted the order to move out, and the guard column moved past the Duke’s party. As they passed, the captain ordered a salute, and lances were dipped toward the Duke. Borric returned the salute with a lazy wave of his hand, then when the guards had passed, said, “Enough of this foolishness, let us to Salador.”

  Arutha laughed and said, “Father, we have need of men like that in the West.”

  Borric turned and said, “Oh? How so?”

  As the horses moved forward, Arutha said, “To polish shields and boots.”

  The Duke smiled and the Krondorians laughed. The western soldiers held those of the East in low regard. The East had been pacified long before the West had been opened to Kingdom expansion, and there was little trouble in the Eastern Realm requiring real skill in warcraft. The Prince of Krondor’s guards were battle-proved veterans, while those of Salador were considered by the guardsmen from the West to do their best soldiering on the parade ground.

  Soon they saw signs that they were nearing the city: cultivated farmland, villages, roadside taverns, and wagons laden with trade goods. By sundown they could see the walls of distant Salador.

  As they entered the city, a full company of Duke Kerus’s own household guards lined the streets to the palace. As in Krondor, there was no castle, for the need for a small, easily defensible keep had passed as the lands around became civilized.

  Riding through the city, Pug realized how much of a frontier town Crydee was. In spite of Lord Bornc’s political power, he was still Lord of a frontier province.

  Along the streets, citizens stood gawking at the western Duke from the wild frontier of the Far Coast. Some cheered, for it seemed like a parade, but most stood quietly, disappointed that the Duke and his party looked like other men, rather than blood-drenched barbarians.

  When they reached the courtyard of the palace, household servants ran to take their horses. A household guard showed the soldiers from Krondor to the soldiers’ commons, where they w
ould rest before returning to the Prince’s city. Another, with a captain’s badge of rank on his tunic, led Borric’s party up the steps of the building.

  Pug looked with wonder, for this palace was even larger than the Prince’s in Krondor. They walked through several outer rooms, then reached an inner courtyard. Here fountains and trees decorated a garden, beyond which stood the central palace Pug realized that the building they had passed through was simply one of the buildings surrounding the Duke’s living quarters. He wondered what use Lord Kerus could possibly have for so many buildings and such a large staff.

  They crossed the garden courtyard and mounted another series of steps toward a reception committee that stood in the door of the central palace. Once this building might have been a citadel, protecting the surrounding town, but Pug couldn’t bring himself to imagine it as it might have been ages ago, for numerous renovations over the years had transformed an ancient keep into a glittering thing of glass and marble.

  Duke Kerus’s chamberlain, an old dried-up stick of a man with a quick eye, knew every noble worth noting—from the borders of Kesh in the south to Tyr-Sog in the north—by sight. His memory for faces and facts had often saved Duke Kerus from embarrassment. By the time Borric had made his way up the broad stairway from the courtyard, the chamberlain had provided Kerus with a few personal facts and a quick evaluation of the right amount of flattery required.

  Duke Kerus took Borric’s hand. “Ah, Lord Borric, you do me great honor by this unexpected visit. If you had only sent word of your arrival, I would have prepared a more fitting welcome.”

  They entered the antechamber of the palace, the Dukes in front. Borric said, “I am sorry to put you to any trouble, Lord Kerus, but I am afraid our mission is dependent on speed, and that the formal courtesies will have to be put aside. I bear messages for the King and must put to sea for Rillanon as soon as is possible.”

  “Of course, Lord Borric, but you will surely be able to stay for a short while, say a week or two?”