Magician (10th Aniversary Edition)

by Raymond E. Feist

  Pug said, “He can bottle them up only if he can station bowmen at the entrance to the rift. A steady stream of bowfire through it should keep them back long enough to erect some sort of barrier. Then we might be able to render it inoperative.”

  Laurie said, “Can’t it be destroyed? The other way is fraught with risk.”

  Pug sat quietly for a moment. “I don’t know if my powers are sufficient to destroy the rift. But I think it is time to try.”

  As he started to spur his horse, a voice behind rang out: “No!”

  They all turned and saw a brown-clad figure standing, staff in hand, where no one had been a moment earlier. “Even your powers are not equal to the task, Great One.”

  “Macros!” Kulgan exclaimed.

  Macros smiled a bitter smile. “As I foretold, I am here when the need is greatest, the hour most grave.”

  Pug said, “What is to be done?”

  “I will close the rift, but I have need of your aid.” He returned his attention to Kulgan. “I see you still have the staff I gave you. Good. Dismount.”

  Pug and Kulgan got down from their mounts. Pug had forgotten that Kulgan’s ever present staff had been the one Macros had given him.

  Macros went over to stand before Kulgan “Plant the end of the staff firmly in the ground.” He turned and handed the staff he carried to Pug. “This staff is twin to that one. Hold it tightly, and never for an instant release your hold, if you have any hope of surviving our task.” He regarded the conflict a short distance away. “It is almost the appointed hour, but not quite. Listen carefully, for time grows short.” He looked at Pug, then Kulgan. “When this is all over, if the rift is destroyed, then return to my island. There you will find explanations for everything that has occurred, though perhaps not to your full satisfaction.” Again there was a bitter smile. “Kulgan, if you have any hope of seeing your former pupil again, hold to that staff with all the strength you possess. Keep Pug in your mind, and never let the staff break contact with Midkemian soil. Is that understood?”

  Kulgan said, “But what of yourself?”

  Macros’s tone was harsh. “My safety is my own concern. Trouble not yourself about me. My place in this drama was as foreordained as your own. Now watch.”

  They returned their attention to the battle. The northern elements of the Kingdom army charged, and Lyam and Tomas gave orders for their own units to join in the attack. The horsemen hit the shield walls again, and the Tsurani lines broke. For a moment the Kingdom cavalry was in command of the field, and the Tsurani collapsed inward. Then, as the advantage of the charge was offset by the milling swarm of foot soldiers who cut horses out from under riders, or conspired to pull horsemen to the ground, the balance returned. A sea of battling figures could be seen around the rift machine. There was no organization, and little discipline. Men fought to survive, not for any gain in position. The sounds of metal clashing against hardened wood and hides rang through the valley. Everywhere the onlookers turned their attention, blood flowed, and the sound of death was terrible.

  Macros looked at Pug and said, “Now is the time. Walk with me.”

  Pug walked behind the brown-robed sorcerer. He held tightly to Macros’s staff, for he believed the sorcerer’s warning that it was his only hope of surviving what lay before them. They walked through the battle, as if some agent were protecting them. Several times a soldier turned to strike, only to be intercepted by one from the other side. Horses would be ready to trample them only to wheel away at the last instant. It was as if a path opened before them and closed behind.

  They approached what was left of the Tsurani line. A shield holder fell to a horseman’s lance. They stepped over the fallen body and entered the small, relatively calm circle around the rift Soldiers were still pouring forth from the rift, and the circle was widening. Macros and Pug mounted the platform to the far side of the rift, while soldiers rushed out of the near side. The soldiers seemed oblivious to the two magicians.

  Macros stepped into the void of the rift Pug entered behind Instead of the expected emergence into Kelewan, they hung in a colorless place. There was little sensation of direction. The place was without light, but not dark, only various shades of grey. Pug found himself alone, with only the sound of his heart beating in his ear to reassure him that existence had not ceased. Softly he said, “Macros?”

  Macros’s voice came to him: “Here, Pug.”

  “I cannot see you.”

  A chuckle was heard. “No, for there is no light. What you see is a faint illusion granted by my arts so you might have some point of reference here. Without ample preparation, even your vaunted powers would avail you little in keeping your sanity, Pug. Simply accept that the human mind is poorly equipped to deal with this place.”

  “What is this place?”

  “This is the place between. Here the gods struggled during the Chaos Wars, and here we shall do our work.”

  “Men are dying, Macros We should hurry.”

  “Here there is no time, Pug Relative to those who battle, we are frozen in an instant. We could grow old and die, and not a full second would pass upon the battlefield.

  “But we must still be quickly about our task. Even I could not do this without spending a bit of energy to keep us alive, energy we’ll need to finish this business. We dare not tarry long, but there are a few things I would say to you. I have waited a long while for you to fulfill your promise. I could not close the rift without your aid.”

  Pug spoke, though his senses rebelled at the grey landscape on all sides and the disembodied voice that seemed a short distance away from him. “It was you who turned the rift aside, when the Stranger came and the Enemy sought to reclaim the nations of Tsuranuanni. Surely that took awesome power.”

  He could hear the sorcerer chuckle. “You remember that detail? Well, I was younger then.” As if he knew it was an unsatisfactory answer, Macros added, “Then the rift was a wild thing, created by the wills of those who stood atop the towers of the Assembly. I only turned it to another place, balking the Enemy’s design, and that at great risk. Now this rift is a controlled thing, firmly anchored in Kelewan, managed by a machine. That which controls it, many intricate spells, keeping it in harmony with Midkemia, keeps me from manipulating it. All I may do is end it, but for that I need help.

  “Before we end this particular drama, I would say this to you: you will understand most things after you reach my island. But one thing above all I ask of you to bear in mind as you hear my message. Please remember I did what I did because it was my fate. I would ask you to think of me kindly.”

  While he could not see the sorcerer, Pug felt his presence close by. He started to speak, but was interrupted by Macros’s voice. “When I am done, use whatever shred of energy you have left to will yourself to Kulgan. The staff will aid you, but you must bend all your efforts to that task. If you fail, you will perish.”

  It was Macros’s second warning, and Pug felt dread for the first time in years. “What of yourself?”

  “Take care of yourself, Pug. I have other concerns.”

  There came a sensation of change, as if the fabric of nothingness around them was subtly altering. Macros said, “At my command, you must unleash the full fury of your power. All that you did at the Imperial Games was but a shadow of what you must do now.”

  “You know of that?”

  Again there was a chuckle. “I was there, though my seat was poor compared to your own. I must admit it was quite impressive. Even I would have been hard-pressed to provide as spectacular a show. Now, there is no more time. Await my command, then let your power flow toward me.”

  Pug said nothing. He could feel the sorcerer’s presence before him, as if it were being defined for him by Macros. Again he felt the sensation of twisting change around him. Suddenly there was a blinding light, then darkness. An instant later all around him erupted in mad displays of energy, much like those he witnessed in the rift of the Golden Bridge. On every side blinding colors exp
loded, primal forces he did not recognize.

  “Now, Pug!” came Macros’s cry.

  Pug bent his will to the task. He reached down into the deepest recesses of his being. From there he brought forth all he could of the magic power he had gained from two worlds. Forces sufficient to destroy mountains, move rivers from their courses, and level cities to rubble, all these he focused. Then, like casting away something painful to hold, he directed all this energy toward where he sensed the sorcerer to be. There came an unimaginable, insane explosion of those forces, and the primal matter of time and space screamed in protest at its presence Pug could feel it writhe and twist around him, as if the fundamental universe were trying to cast the invaders out. Then there came a sudden release, and they were expelled.

  Pug found himself floating in total blackness. He drifted, numb and without coherent thought. His mind was unable to accept what he had sensed, and he was close to losing consciousness. He felt his fingers go lax, and the staff began to slip from his hand. He clutched spasmodically at it from blind instinct. He then felt a faint tugging. His mind resisted the cool blackness that was trying to overtake him, and he tried to remember something. It was growing cold around him, and he could feel his lungs burning for lack of air. He tried to remember something once-more, but it would not come to him. Then he felt the tug again, and a faint but familiar voice seemed to sound close by.

  “Kulgan?” he said weakly, and let the darkness take him.

  * * *

  The Tsurani Force Commander was alive. He wondered at that miracle as he saw those around him who lay dead before the rift machine. The explosion a minute before had killed hundreds, and others lay dazed a little way beyond.

  He rose and took stock of what was occurring. The terrible destruction of the rift had not served to aid the Kingdom forces, either. Riders frantically tried to control near-hysterical horses, and other mounts could be seen running madly away, their riders thrown from their backs. All about, confusion reigned. But those at the edge of the conflict were less dazed than the others, and the fighting was resuming.

  There was little hope; now that Kelewan was cut off to them, either of aid or of a safe return. Still, they numbered only slightly less than the enemy, and there was a chance that the field could yet be theirs. There might be time to worry about the rift later.

  Abruptly the sounds of fighting stopped as the Kingdom forces withdrew. The Force Commander looked about and, still seeing no officer of greater rank, started shouting orders to ready the shield wall for another assault.

  The Kingdom forces were slowly regrouping. They did not attack, but took up position opposite the Tsurani. The Force Commander waited, while his soldiers made ready the lines. On all sides Kingdom horsemen stood ready, but still they did not come.

  Slowly the tension grew. The Force Commander ordered a platform raised. Four Tsurani grabbed a shield, he stood upon it, and they lifted him up. His eyes widened. “They have reinforcements.” Far to the south he could see the advancing columns of the South Pass Kingdom forces. They had been farther removed from the parley site and were only now reaching the battlefield.

  A shout from the opposite direction caused him to look to the north: lines of the Kingdom infantry were advancing from the trees. Again he turned his attention southward and strained his eyes. In the distant haze he could see the signs of a large force of infantry following behind the cavalry. The officer ordered the shield lowered, and his Subcommander said, “What is it?”

  “Their entire army is in the field.” He swallowed hard, the usual Tsurani impassivity broken. “Mother of gods! There must be thirty thousand of them.”

  “Then we shall give them a battle worthy of a ballad before we die,” said the Subcommander.

  The Force Commander looked about him. On all sides stood bleeding, wounded, and dazed soldiers. Of the Kingdom armies arrayed against them, only a third had fought. Fully twenty thousand rested soldiers approached four thousand Tsurani, half of them unable to fight at their normal efficiency.

  The Force Commander shook his head. “There will be no fighting. We are cut off from home, perhaps for all time. There is no purpose.”

  He stepped past his startled Subcommander and walked beyond the shield wall. Raising both hands above his head in the sign of parley, he walked toward Lyam, slowly, dreading the moment when he would be the first Tsurani officer in living memory to surrender his forces. It took only a matter of minutes to reach the Prince. He removed his helm and knelt.

  He looked up at the tall, golden-haired Prince of the Kingdom and said, “Lord Lyam. Into your care I give my men. Will you accept surrender?”

  Lyam nodded. “Yes, Kasumi. I will accept surrender.”

  Darkness. Then a gathering greyness. Pug forced his heavy eyelids open. Above him was the familiar face of Kulgan.

  The face of his old teacher split into a wide smile “It is good to see you are with us again. We did not know if you were really alive. Your body was so cold to the touch. Can you sit up?”

  Pug took the offered arm and found that Meecham knelt next to him, aiding him to sit up. He could feel the cold leave his limbs as the bright sunlight warmed his body. He sat still for a moment, then said, “I think I will live.” As he said it, he could feel strength returning to him. After a moment he felt able to stand and did so.

  Around him he could see the assembled armies of the Kingdom. “What has happened?”

  Laurie said, “The rift is destroyed, and the Tsurani who remain have surrendered. The war is over.”

  Pug felt too weak for emotion. He looked at the faces of those around him and could see deep relief in their eyes. Suddenly Kulgan engulfed him in a hug. “You risked your life to end this madness. It is your victory as much as any man’s.”

  Pug stood quietly, then stepped away from his former master. “It is Macros who ended the war. Did he return?”

  “No. Only you, and as soon as you were here, both of the staffs disappeared. There is no sign of him.”

  Pug shook his head, clearing away the fogginess. “What now?”

  Meecham looked over his shoulder. “It might be wise if you joined Lyam. There seems to be some commotion taking place.”

  Laurie and Kulgan assisted Pug, for he was still weak from his ordeal within the rift. They walked to where Lyam, Arutha, Kasumi, and the assembled Kingdom nobles stood waiting. Across the field they could see the elves and dwarves approaching, with the northern Kingdom forces behind.

  Pug was surprised to see the older son of the Shinzawai present, for he had thought him back on Kelewan. He looked a figure of deletion, standing without weapon or helm, and with head downcast, so he didn’t see Pug and the others arrive.

  Pug turned his attention to the elves and dwarves. Four figures walked at their head. Two he recognized, Dolgan and Calin. There was another dwarf with them who was unknown to the magician. As the four reached a place before the Prince, Pug realized that the tall warrior in white and gold was his boyhood friend. He stood speechless, amazed at the change in Tomas, for his old friend was now a towering figure who resembled an elf as much as a human.

  Lyam was too exhausted for outrage. He looked at the Warleader of Elvandar and said quietly, “What cause did you have to attack, Tomas?”

  The Prince Consort of the elves said, “The Tsurani drew weapons, Lyam. They were ready to attack the pavilion. Could you not see?”

  In spite of his fatigue, Lyam’s voice rose. “I saw only your host attack a conference of peace. I saw nothing in the Tsurani camp that was untoward.”

  Kasumi raised his head. “Your Highness, on my word, we drew weapons only when we were set upon by those.” He pointed at Tomas’s forces.

  Lyam turned his attention back to Tomas. “Did I not send word that there was to be a truce, and a peace?”

  “Aye,” answered Dolgan, “I was there when the sorcerer brought word.”

  “Sorcerer?” said Lyam. He turned and shouted, “Laurie! I would have words with you
.”

  Laurie stepped forward and said, “Highness?”

  “Did you carry word to the Elf Queen as I bid?”

  “On my honor. I spoke with the Elf Queen herself.”

  Tomas looked Lyam in the eye, head tilted back, an expression of defiance upon his face. “And I swear that I have never seen that man before this moment. Word of the planned Tsurani treachery was carried to us by Macros.”

  Kulgan and Pug came forward “Your Highness,” said Kulgan, “if the sorcerer’s hand is in this—and it has been in everything else, it seems— then it may be best to unravel this mystery at leisure.”

  Lyam still fumed, but Arutha said, “Let it be. We can sort out this mess back at the camp.”

  Lyam gave a curt nod. “We return to camp.” The Heir turned to Brucal and said, “Form a proper escort for the prisoners and bring them along.” He then looked at Tomas. “You I would also have in my tent when we return. There is much we must explain.” Tomas agreed, though he did not look happy at the prospect. Lyam shouted, “We return to camp at once. Give the order.”

  Kingdom officers rode toward their companies, and the order was given. Tomas turned away and found a stranger standing next to him. He looked at the smiling face, then Dolgan said, “Are you blind, boy? Can’t you recognize your own boyhood companion?”

  Tomas looked at Pug as the exhausted magician moved close “Pug?” he said softly. Then he reached out and embraced his once-lost foster brother. “Pug!”

  They stood together quietly, amid the clamor of armies on the move, both with tears upon their faces. Kulgan placed his hands upon both men’s shoulders. “Come, we must return. There is much to speak of, and thank the gods, there is now ample time to do so.”

  The camp was in full celebration. After more than nine years, the soldiers of the Kingdom knew they would not have to risk death or injury tomorrow. Songs rang out from around campfires, and laughter came from all quarters. It mattered little to most that others lay wounded in tents, tended by the priests, and that some would not live to see the first day of peace, or taste the fruits of victory. All the celebrants knew was that they were among the living, and they reveled in the fact. Later there would be time for mourning lost comrades. Now they drank in life.