Magician (10th Aniversary Edition)

by Raymond E. Feist

  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 isle 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 hissi
ng 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.

  Tully turned and nodded to the Chief Priest of Ishap, who struck the floor with his staff. “Now it is past, the hour of our choosing I hereby proclaim Lyam the First our right, true, and undisputed King.”

  The crowd responded with a roar. “Hail Lyam! Long live the King!”

  The Priests of Ishap chanted low, and the chief priest led them to the door. He struck the wax seal with his staff, and it split with a cracking sound. He struck the door three times more, and the guards outside opened it. Before stepping out, he intoned the last phrase of the ritual of coronation. To those outside the hall, not privileged to watch the ceremony, he announced, “Let the word go forth. Lyam is our King!”

  Faster than a bird’s flight, the word went out of the hall, through the palace, and into the city. Celebrants in the street toasted the new monarch, and not one in a thousand knew how close disaster had come to visiting the Kingdom this day.

  The Ishapian priests left the hall, and all eyes returned to the new ruler of the Kingdom.

  Tully motioned to the members of the royal family, and Arutha, Martin, and Carline came before their brother Lyam extended his hand, and Martin knelt and kissed his brother’s signet. Arutha followed, then Carline.

  Alicia led Anita to the throne, the first of the long line of nobles who followed, and the lengthy business of accepting the fealty of the peers of the realm began. Lord Caldric bent a trembling knee to his King, and there were tears of relief upon his face as he rose. When Brucal swore his loyalty, he briefly spoke to the King as he stood, and Lyam nodded.

  Then in turn came the other nobles of the Kingdom until, hours later, the last of the Border Barons, those guardians of the Northern Marches, vassal to no Lord but the King, rose and returned to stand with the others in the hall.

  Handing the sword of Dannis to a waiting page, Lyam stood and said, “It is our wish that a time of celebration be at hand. But there are matters of state that must be attended to at once. Most are of a happy nature, but first there is one sad duty that must be discharged.

  “There is one absent today, one who sought to gain the throne upon wh
ich we are privileged to sit. That Guy du Bas-Tyra did plot treason cannot be denied. That he did commit foul murder is unquestioned. But it was the late King’s wish that mercy be shown in this matter. As it was Rodric’s dying request, I shall grant this boon, though it would be our pleasure to see Guy du Bas-Tyra pay in full for his deeds.

  “Let the word go from this day that Guy du Bas-Tyra is named outlaw and banished from our Kingdom, his titles and lands forfeit to the crown. Let his name and arms be stricken from the role of Lords of the Kingdom. Let no man offer him shelter, fire, food, or water.” To the assembled lords he added, “Some here have been allied with the former Duke, so we have little doubt he will hear our judgment. Tell him to flee, to go to Kesh, Queg, or Roldem. Tell him to hide in the Northlands if no other will take him, but should he be found inside our borders within a week’s time, his life is forfeit.”

  No one in the hall spoke for a moment, then Lyam said, “It has been a time of great sorrow and suffering in our realms; now let us embark upon a new era, one of peace and prosperity.” He indicated that his two brothers should return to his side, and as they approached, Arutha looked at Martin. Suddenly he grinned and, in an unexpected display of emotion, hugged both Martin and Lyam. For a brief instant all in the hall were silent as the three brothers clung closely to one another, then again cheers filled the room.

  While the clamor continued, Lyam spoke to his brothers. At first Martin smiled broadly, then suddenly his expression changed. Both Arutha and Lyam nodded vigorously, but Martin’s face drained of color. He started to say something, his manner intense and remonstrative. Lyam cut him off and held up his hand for silence.

  “There is a new ordering of things in our Kingdom. Let it be known that from this day forward, our beloved brother Arutha is Prince of Krondor, and until such time as there is a son in our house, Heir to the throne.” At the last, Arutha seemed less than pleased. Then Lyam said, “And it is our wish that the Duchy of Crydee, home of our father, stay within our family so long as his line remains. To this end I name Martin, our beloved brother, Duke of Crydee, with all lands, titles, and rights pertaining thereunto.”