Magician: Master

by Raymond Feist

  Arutha said, “But I purchased his ship. I’m ship’s master now.”

  Amos said, “Owner or not, Prince or not, aboard ship there is but one master, the captain. He is King and High Priest, and no man tells him what to do, save when a harbor pilot’s aboard, and then only with respect. No, Highness, you’ll not survive this journey with Oscar Danteen on the quarterdeck.”

  Faint lines of mirth began to crinkle at the corners of Arutha’s eyes. “Have you another suggestion, Captain?”

  Amos sighed as he sank back into his chair. “I’ve been hooked; I might as well be gutted and cleaned. Send word to Danteen to clear out the captain’s cabin and discharge the crew. I’ll see to getting a replacement crew for that band of cutthroats, though there’s mostly drunkards and boys left in port this time of year. And for the love of the gods, don’t mention to anyone where we’re bound. If so much as one of those drink-besotted scoundrels learns you mean to risk the Straits of Darkness this late in the season, you’ll have to turn out the garrison to comb the woods for deserters.”

  Arutha said, “Very well. I’ll leave all preparations to you. We depart as soon as you judge the ship ready.” He said to Longbow, “I’ll want you to come as well, Huntmaster.”

  Longbow looked a little surprised. “Me, Highness?”

  “I’ll want an eyewitness for Lord Dulanic and the Prince.”

  Martin frowned, but after a moment said, “I’ve never been to Krondor, Highness.” He smiled his crooked smile. “I may never have the chance again.”

  —

  AMOS TRASK’S VOICE cut through the shriek of the wind. Gusts from the sea carried his words to a confused-looking lad aloft. “No, you warped-brained landlubber, don’t pull the sheets so damn tight. They’ll be humming like a lute string. They don’t pull the ship, the mast does. The lines help when the wind changes quarter.” He watched as the boy adjusted the sheets. “Yes, that’s it; no, that’s too loose.” He swore loudly. “Now; there you have it!”

  He looked disgusted as Arutha came up the gangway. “Fishing boys who want to be sailors. And drunkards. And a few of Danteen’s rogues I had to rehire. This is some crew, Highness.”

  “Will they serve?”

  “They bloody well better, or they’ll answer to me.” He watched with a critical eye as the sailors crawled over the spars aloft, checking every knot and splice, every line and sheet. “We need thirty good men. I can count on eight. The rest? I mean to put into Carse as well as Tulan on the way down. Maybe then we can replace the boys and less dependable men with experienced seamen.”

  “What of the delay clearing the straits?”

  “If we were there today, we would manage. By the time we get there, a dependable crew will prove more important than arriving a week earlier. The season will be full upon us.” He studied Arutha. “Do you know why the passage is called the Straits of Darkness?”

  Arutha shrugged. Amos said, “It’s no simple sailor’s superstition. It’s a description of what you find there.” He got a far-off look as he said, “Now, I can tell you about the different currents from the Endless Sea and Bitter Sea that come together there, or about the changing, crazy tides of winter when the moons are all in the worst possible aspect in the heavens, or how winds come sweeping down from the north, blowing snow so thick you can’t see the decks from the yards. But then…There are no words to describe the straits in winter. It is one, two, three days traveling blind. And if the prevailing wind’s not blowing you back into the Endless Sea, then it’s blowing you to the southern rocks. Or there’s no wind, and fog blots out everything as the currents turn you around.”

  “You paint a bleak picture, Captain,” said Arutha with a grim smile.

  “Only the truth. You’re a young man of uncommonly practical wits and cold nerve, Highness. I’ve seen you stand when many men of greater experience would have broken and run. I’m not trying to put any scare upon you. I simply wish you to understand what you propose to do. If any can clear the straits in winter in this bucket, it is Amos Trask, and that’s no idle boast. I’ve cut the season so fine before, there’s little to tell between autumn and winter, winter and spring. But I would also tell you this: before leaving Crydee, say tender good-byes to your sister, write your father and brother, and leave any testaments and legacies in order.”

  Without changing expression, Arutha said, “The letters and legacies are written, and Carline and I dine alone tonight.”

  Amos nodded. “We’ll leave on the morning tide. This ship’s a slab-sided, wattle-bottomed, water-rotted coaster, Highness, but she’ll make it through if I have to pick her up and carry her.”

  Arutha took his leave, and when he was out of sight, Amos turned his attention heavenward. “Astalon,” he invoked the god of justice, “I’m a sinner, it’s true. But if you had to measure out justice, did it have to be this?” Now at peace with his fate, Amos returned to the business of seeing everything in order.

  —

  CARLINE WALKED IN the garden, the withering blooms reflecting her own sad mood. Roland watched her from a short way off, trying to find words of comfort. Finally he said, “I will be Baron of Tulan someday. It is over nine years since I’ve been home. I must go down the coast with Arutha.”

  Softly she said, “I know.”

  He saw the resignation on her face and crossed to hold her. “You will be Baroness there someday, also.”

  She hugged him tightly, then stepped away, forcing herself to speak lightly. “Still, you’d think after all these years your father would have learned to do without you.”

  He smiled. “He was to have wintered in Jonril with Baron Bellamy, overseeing the enlargement of the garrison. I will go in his stead. My brothers are all too young. With the Tsurani dug in for the winter, it is our only chance to expand the fort.”

  With forced levity she said, “At least I won’t have to worry about your breaking the hearts of the ladies of your father’s court.”

  He laughed. “Little chance of that. Supplies and men are already assembling and the barges ready to travel up the river Wyndermeer. After Amos puts me ashore in Tulan, I’ll spend one or two days at home, no more, then off I go. It will be a long winter in Jonril with no one for company but soldiers and a few farmers in that gods-forsaken fort.”

  Carline covered her mouth as she giggled. “I hope your father doesn’t discover you’ve gambled away his barony to the soldiers come spring.”

  Roland smiled at her. “I’ll miss you.”

  Carline took his hands in hers. “And I you.”

  They stood in tableau for a time, then suddenly Carline’s facade of bravery cracked, and she was in his arms. “Don’t let anything happen. I couldn’t bear losing you.”

  “I know,” he said gently. “But you must continue to put on a brave face for others. Fannon will need your help in conducting court, and you will have the responsibility for the entire household. You are mistress of Crydee, and many people will depend upon your guidance.”

  They watched the banners on the walls snapping in the late-afternoon wind. The air was harsh, and he drew his cloak about them. Trembling, she said, “Come back to me, Roland.”

  Softly he said, “I’ll come back, Carline.” He tried to shake a cold, icy feeling that had risen within, but could not.

  —

  THEY STOOD ON the dock, in the darkness of morning before the sunrise. Arutha and Roland waited by the gangway. Arutha said, “Take care of everything, Swordmaster.”

  Fannon stood with his hand upon his sword, still proud and erect despite advancing years. “I will, Highness.”

  With a slight smile Arutha said, “And when Gardan and Algon return from patrol, instruct them to take care of you.”

  Fannon’s eyes blazed as he shot back. “Insolent pup! I can best any man of the castle, save your father. Step down from the gangway and draw your sword, and I’ll show you why I still wear the badge of Swordmaster.”

  Arutha held his hands up in mock supplication.
“Fannon, it is good to see such sparks again. Crydee is well protected by her Swordmaster.”

  Fannon stepped forward and placed his hand upon Arutha’s shoulder. “Take care, Arutha. You were always my best student. I should hate to lose you.”

  Arutha smiled fondly at his old teacher. “My thanks, Fannon.” Then his manner turned wry. “I would hate to lose me, also. I’ll be back. And I’ll have Erland’s soldiers with me.”

  Arutha and Roland sprang up the gangway, while those on the dock waved good-bye. Martin Longbow waited at the rail, watching as the gangway was removed and the men upon the quay cast off lines. Amos Trask shouted orders, and sails were lowered from the yards. Slowly the ship moved away from the quayside into the harbor. Arutha watched silently, with Roland and Martin beside, as the docks fell behind.

  Roland said, “I was glad the Princess chose not to come. One more good-bye would be more than I could manage.”

  “I understand,” said Arutha. “She cares for you greatly, Squire, though I can’t see why.” Roland looked to see if the Prince was joking and found Arutha smiling faintly. “I’ve not spoken of it,” the Prince continued. “But since we may not see each other for some time after you leave us in Tulan, you should know that when the opportunity comes for you to speak to Father, you’ll have my word on your behalf.”

  “Thank you, Arutha.”

  The town slipped by in darkness, replaced by the causeway to the lighthouse. The false dawn pierced the gloom slightly, casting everything into greys and blacks. Then after some time the large upthrust form of the Guardian Rocks appeared off the starboard quarter.

  Amos ordered the helm put over, and they turned southwestward, more sails set to bring them full before the wind. The ship picked up speed, and Arutha could hear gulls crying overhead. Suddenly he was struck with the knowledge they were now out of Crydee. He felt chilled and gathered his cloak tightly around him.

  —

  ARUTHA STOOD ON the quarterdeck, sword held ready, Martin to one side notching an arrow to his bowstring. Amos Trask and his first mate, Vasco, also had weapons drawn. Six angry-looking seamen were assembled upon the deck below, while the rest of the crew watched the confrontation.

  One sailor shouted from the deck, “You’ve lied to us, Captain. You’ve not put back north for Crydee as you said in Tulan. Unless you mean for us to sail on to Keshian Elarial, there’s nothing south save the straits. Do you mean to pass the Straits of Darkness?”

  Amos roared, “Damn you, man. Do you question my orders?”

  “Aye, Captain. Tradition holds there’s no valid compact between captain and crew to sail the straits in winter, save by agreement. You lied to us, and we’re not obliged to sail with you.”

  Arutha heard Amos mutter, “A bloody sea-lawyer.” To the sailor he said, “Very well,” and handed his cutlass to Vasco. Descending the ladder to the main deck, he approached the seaman with a friendly smile upon his face.

  “Look, lads,” he began as he reached the six recalcitrant sailors, all holding belaying pins or marline-spikes. “I’ll be honest with you. The Prince must reach Krondor, or there’ll be hell to pay come spring. The Tsurani gather a large force, which may come against Crydee.” He placed his hand upon the shoulder of the sailors’ spokesman and said, “So what it comes down to is this: we must sail to Krondor.” With a sudden motion Amos had his arm around the man’s neck. He ran to the side of the ship and heaved the helpless sailor over. “If you don’t wish to come along,” he shouted, “you can swim back to Tulan!”

  Another sailor started to move toward Amos when an arrow struck the deck at his feet. He looked up and saw Martin taking a bead upon him. The Huntmaster said, “I wouldn’t.”

  The man dropped his marlinespike and stepped back. Amos turned to face the sailors. “By the time I reach the quarterdeck, you had better be in the rigging—or over the side, it makes no difference to me. Any man not working will be hanged for the mutinous dog he is.”

  The faint cries for help of the man in the water could be heard as Amos returned to the quarterdeck. To Vasco he said, “Toss that fool a rope, and if he doesn’t relent, pitch him overboard again.” Amos shouted, “Set all sails! Make for the Straits of Darkness.”

  —

  ARUTHA BLINKED SEAWATER out of his eyes and held on to the guide rope with all the strength he possessed. Another wave crashed over the side of the ship, and he was blinded once more. Strong hands grabbed him from behind, and in the darkness he heard Martin’s voice. “Are you all right?”

  Spitting water, he shouted, “Yes,” and continued to make his way toward the quarterdeck, Martin close behind. The Wind of Dawn pitched and rolled beneath his feet, and he slipped twice before he reached the ladder. The entire ship had been rigged with safety lines, for in the rough sea it was impossible to keep a footing without something to hang on to.

  Arutha pulled himself up the ladder to the quarterdeck and stumbled as much as walked to Amos Trask. The captain waited beside the helmsman, lending his weight to the large tiller when needed. He stood as if rooted to the wood of the deck, feet wide apart, weight shifting with each move of the ship, his eyes peering into the gloom above. He watched, listened, each sense tuned to the ship’s rhythm. Arutha knew he had not slept for two days and a night, and most of this night as well.

  “How much longer?” Arutha shouted.

  “One, two days, who can say?” A snap from above sounded like cracking spring ice upon the river Crydee. “Hard aport!” Amos shouted, leaning heavily into the tiller. When the ship heeled, he shouted to Arutha, “Another day of these gods-cursed winds buffeting this ship, and we’ll be lucky if we can turn and run back to Tulan.”

  They were nine days out of Tulan, the last three spent in the storm. The ship had been relentlessly pounded by waves and wind, and Amos had been in the hold three times, inspecting the repairs to the keelson. Amos judged them due west of the straits, but couldn’t be sure until the storm passed. Another wave struck the ship, and it shuddered.

  “Weather break!” came the shout from above.

  “Where away?” cried Amos.

  “Dead starboard!”

  “Come about!” ordered Amos, and the helmsman leaned against the tiller.

  Arutha strained his eyes against the stinging salt spray and saw a faint glow seem to swing about until it stood off the bow. Then it grew larger as they drove for the thinning weather. As if walking out of a dark room, they moved from gloom to light. The heavens seemed to open above them, and they could see grey skies. The waves still ran high, but Arutha sensed the weather had turned at last. He looked over his shoulder and saw the black mass of the storm as it moved away from them.

  Moment by moment the combers subsided, and after the raging clamor of the storm, the sea seemed suddenly silent. The sky was quickly brightening, and Amos said, “It’s morning. I must have lost track of time. I thought it still night.”

  Arutha watched the receding storm and could see it clearly outlined, a churning mass of darkness against the lighter grey of the sky above. The grey quickly turned to slate, then blue-grey as the morning sun broke through the storm. For the better part of an hour Arutha watched the spectacle, while Amos ordered his men about their tasks, sending the night watch below and the day watch above.

  The storm raced eastward, leaving a choppy sea behind. Time seemed frozen as Arutha stood in awe of the scene on the horizon. A portion of the storm seemed to have stopped, between distant fingers of land. Great spouts of water spun between the boundaries of the narrow passage in the distance. It looked as if a mass of dark, boiling clouds had been trapped within that area by a supernatural force.

  “The Straits of Darkness,” said Amos Trask at his shoulder.

  “When do we put through them?” Arutha asked quietly.

  “Now,” answered Amos. The captain turned and shouted, “Day watch aloft! Midwatch turn to and stand ready! Helmsman, set course due east!”

  Men scrambled into the rigging, while ot
hers came from below, still haggard and showing little benefit from the few hours’ sleep since they last stood watch. Arutha pulled back the hood of his cloak and felt the cold sting of the wind against his wet scalp. Amos gripped him by the arm and said, “We could wait for weeks and not have the wind favorable again. That storm was a blessing in disguise, for it will give us a bold start through.”

  Arutha watched in fascination as they headed for the straits. Some freak of weather and current had created the conditions that held the straits in water-shrouded gloom all winter. In fair weather the straits were a difficult passage, for though they appeared wide at most points, dangerous rocks were hidden just below the water in many critical places. In foul weather they were considered impossible for most captains to negotiate. Sheets of water or flurries of snow blown down from the southernmost peaks of the Grey Towers tried to fall, only to be caught by blasts of wind and tossed back upward again, to try to fall once more. Waterspouts suddenly erupted upward to spin madly for minutes, then dissolve into blinding cascades. Ragged bolts of lightning cracked and were followed by booming thunder as all the fury of colliding weather fronts was unleashed.

  “The sea’s running high,” yelled Amos. “That’s good. We’ll have more room to clear the rocks, and we’ll be through or dashed to pieces in short order. If the wind holds, we’ll be through before the day is done.”

  “What if the winds change?”

  “That is not something to dwell on!”

  They raced forward, attacking the edge of the swirling weather inside the straits. The ship shuddered as if reluctant once again to face foul weather. Arutha gripped the rail tightly as the ship began to buck and lurch. Amos picked his way along, avoiding the sudden wayward gusts, keeping the ship in the westerly trail of the passed storm.

  All light disappeared. The ship was illuminated only by the dancing light of the storm lanterns, casting flickering yellow darts into murk. The distant booming of waves upon rocks reverberated from all quarters, confusing the senses. Amos shouted to Arutha, “We’ll keep to the center of the passage; if we slip to one side or the other, or get turned, we’ll stave in the hull on rocks.” Arutha nodded, as the captain shouted instructions to his crew.