Magician: Master

by Raymond Feist

  Kulgan seemed surprised. “Really? I would have thought my simple arts beneath your greatness.”

  Pug felt the old embarrassment from when he had been Kulgan’s student. “You make sport of me yet.”

  Kulgan laughed. “Only a little, boy. And you are still a boy to one of my advancing years. It is not easy for me to see an indifferent apprentice become the most powerful magician of another world.”

  “Indifferent was the proper word for it. At first I only wanted to be a soldier. I think you knew that. Then when I had finally decided to devote myself to study, the invasion began.” Pug smiled. “I think you felt sorry for me that day when I stood alone before the Duke’s court, the only boy not called.”

  “That is partly true, though I was the first to sense the power in you. And the judgment was borne out, no matter the amazing events required to bring your ability to fruition.”

  Pug sighed. “Well, the Assembly is nothing if not complete in its training. Once the power is detected, there are but two options, success or death. With all other thoughts banished, there is little to concern the student but the study of magic. Without that, I doubt I would ever have amounted to much.”

  Kulgan said, “I think not. Had the Tsurani never come, there would still have been a path to greatness for you to follow.”

  They sat and talked and were comforted by each other’s presence. After a while they lit fires, for darkness was falling. Katala came to the tent to see if her husband was to join her and the boy at the celebration feast being given by King Lyam. She looked inside and saw the two of them lost in conversation.

  She backed out and, with a faint smile on her lips, returned to her son.

  13

  Deceptions

  Tomas awoke with a start.

  In the predawn darkness something strange called to him. He sat up, every sense extended, trying to recapture what had awakened him.

  Aglaranna stirred next to him. Since his return from the confrontation with Martin over the Tsurani prisoners, he had been free of the alien dreams and the blind rages. He was no longer the boy from Crydee or the ancient Dragon Lord, but a new being possessing qualities of both.

  She came awake and slowly reached out to touch his shoulder. The muscles were relaxed, free of the tension that marked his grappling with an ancient dream. She breathed a long sigh, then said, “Tomas, what is it?”

  He reached up to cover her hand with his own. “I don’t know. Something odd occurred a moment ago.” He sat with his head slightly turned, as if listening to something distant. “A change…a shift in the pattern of things, perhaps.”

  The Elf Queen said nothing. Since becoming his lover she had grown used to his uncanny ability to sense events elsewhere, an ability unmatched by even the most gifted of the ancient Spellweavers. A remnant of his Valheru heritage, this awareness had come fully into bloom since he recovered his humanity. She thought it strange, yet reassuring, that his Valheru powers had become more pronounced and acute only since regaining his humanity. It was as if some force had conspired to keep them blunted until he possessed the wisdom to use them.

  Tomas stopped listening. “It is something to the east, a mixture of rejoicing and a great sadness.” His voice sounded thick with emotion. “An age is dying.”

  He rolled off the sleeping pallet and stood, powerful muscles revealed to Aglaranna’s elven eyes in the dim light. He stood at the door of their sleeping chamber, looking out over Elvandar, listening to the sounds of the night. Everything appeared calm.

  The scent of the forest, thick, sweet, and heady, was overlaid with the faint hints of aromas from last night’s supper, and the smell of bread fresh from the oven for this morning’s meal. Night birds sang, while day birds began their predawn warbling, and the sun prepared to rise in the east. The touch of cool air upon his naked skin was a caress to Tomas, and he felt more complete and at peace than he had ever been in his young life.

  Aglaranna’s arms went around his waist, and he felt her press tight against him. He could feel the beat of her heart as she held him close. “My lord, my love,” she said, “return to our bed.”

  He turned within the circle of her arms and felt the warmth of her body against his. “There is something…” He gripped her close, but gently. “There is a feeling of hope.”

  She could feel his heat as his desire answered hers. “Hope. Would that it is true.”

  He looked down at her face, his senses as acute in the gloom as hers, drinking in the sight of her. “Never lose hope, my Queen.”

  He kissed her deeply, and whatever awakened him was quickly forgotten.

  —

  LYAM SAT QUIETLY in his tent. He was composing the message he would send to Crydee when a guard entered and announced the arrival of Pug and Kulgan. Lyam rose and greeted them, and when the guards left, indicated they should sit. “I am sorely in need of your wisdom.” He sat back and waved at the parchments before him. “If Arutha is to reach us in time for the peace conference, these must leave today. But I have never been much for letters, and I also confess to great difficulty in sharing the events of the last week.”

  Kulgan said, “May I?” pointing to the letter.

  Lyam waved consent, and the magician picked up the parchment and began to read. “ ‘To my beloved brother and sister: It is with the deepest sorrow I must tell you of our father’s death. He was injured mortally in the great Tsurani offensive, leading a counterattack to rescue surrounded soldiers, mainly Hadati hillmen, auxiliaries to the garrison of Yabon. The Hadati sing his name and make sagas in his honor, such was his bravery. He passed thinking of his children, and his love for us all was undiminished.

  “ ‘The King has also passed, and it has fallen to me to lead our armies. Arutha, I would have you here, for we now are at the war’s end. The Emperor is willing to make peace. We shall meet in the north valley of the Grey Towers in twenty-nine days’ time, at noon. Carline, I would have you take ship to Krondor with Anita, for there is much to be done there, and Princess Alicia will have need of her daughter. I will join you with Arutha once peace has been made. With love, and sharing in your sorrow, I am, your most loving brother, Lyam.’ ”

  Kulgan was quiet for a moment, and Lyam said, “I thought you might be able to add something or other, to lend elegance to it.”

  Kulgan said, “I think you announced your father’s passing with simplicity and gentleness. It is a fine message.”

  Lyam shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “There is so much yet to write. I have said nothing about Martin.”

  Kulgan took up a quill. “I will copy this again, for your pen is a bit strangled, Lyam.” With a warm smile he added, “You were always one to prefer the sword to the quill. I’ll add some instructions to the end, asking that Martin go to Krondor with your sister. Gardan and Fannon should also make the journey. And an honor company of the castle garrison. It will make it seem you mean to honor those who served so well in Crydee. Then you will have ample time to decide how to tell Martin what you must.”

  Pug shook his head sadly. “I only wish you could add Roland’s name to that list.” Since coming to the camp, he had learned of the Squire of Tulan’s death. Kulgan had told him of what he knew of events in Crydee and elsewhere concerning his old friends over the last few years.

  Lyam said, “Curse me for a fool! Carline has no idea you are back, Pug. You must add that, Kulgan.”

  Pug said, “I hope it will not come as too much of a shock.”

  Kulgan chuckled. “Not so much of a shock as discovering you’ve a wife and child.”

  Memories of his boyhood and his tempestuous relationship with the Princess returned, and Pug said, “I hope also she has outgrown some of the notions she held nine years ago.”

  Lyam laughed for the first time since his father’s death, genuinely entertained by Pug’s discomfort. “Rest assured, Pug. I’ve had many long communications with my brother and sister over the years, and I judge Carline a greatly changed young woman
from the girl you once knew. She was fifteen years old when last you saw her. Think of your own changes in the last nine years.”

  Pug nodded.

  Kulgan finished his copy work and handed the document to Lyam. He read it and said, “Thank you, Kulgan. You’ve added just the right note of gentleness.”

  The tent flap opened and Brucal entered, his old, lined face animated with glee. “Bas-Tyra’s fled!”

  “How?” asked Lyam. “Our soldiers must still be a week from Krondor, maybe more.”

  The old Duke sat heavily in a chair. “We found a hidden cage of messenger pigeons, belonging to the late Richard of Salador. One of his men sent word to Guy of Rodric’s death, and your being named Heir. We’ve questioned the fellow, a valet of Richard’s. He’s admitted to being one of Bas-Tyra’s spies in Richard’s court. Guy’s fled the city, knowing one of your first acts as King will be to have him hung. My guess is he will make straight for Rillanon.”

  “I would have thought that would be the last place on Midkemia he would wish to be,” remarked Kulgan.

  “Black Guy is no man’s fool, whatever else may be said of him. He’ll be underground, no doubt, but you’ll see his handiwork again before we are through. Until the crown is resting upon Lyam’s head, Guy is still a power in the Kingdom.”

  Lyam looked troubled at the last remark, thinking of his father’s dying declaration. Since Brucal’s admonition to say nothing of Martin, everyone had spoken only of Lyam’s coronation, nothing of Martin’s possible claim to the crown.

  Lyam let these disturbing thoughts pass by as Brucal continued speaking: “Still, with Bas-Tyra on the sly, most of our troubles are now behind. And with the war near an end, we can get back to the business of rebuilding the Kingdom. And I for one am glad. I am getting too old for much more of this nonsense of war and politics. I only regret I am without a son, so I could announce in his favor and retire.”

  Lyam studied Brucal with affectionate disbelief. “You’ll never bow down gracefully, old war dog. You’ll go to your deathbed scratching and clawing every inch of the way, and that day is years off.”

  “Who’s talking of dying?” snorted Brucal. “I mean to hunt my hounds and fly my falcons, and do some fishing as well. Who knows? I may find some comely wench hearty enough to keep up with me, say about seventeen or eighteen years of age, and remarry and father a son yet. If that young fool Vandros ever gathers his wits about him and marries my Felinah, you just see how fast he’ll become Duke of Yabon when I retire.

  “Why she still waits for him is anybody’s guess.” He heaved himself up from his chair. “I am for a hot bath and some sleep before supper. By your leave?”

  Lyam motioned he might leave and, when he was gone, said, “I will never get used to this business of people needing my permission to come and go.”

  Pug and Kulgan rose from their chairs. Kulgan said, “You had better, for everyone will ask it of you from now on. With your permission…?”

  Feigning disgust, Lyam motioned they might go.

  —

  THE COUNCIL SAT in assembly as Aglaranna took her place upon the throne. Besides the normal council, Martin Longbow was present, standing beside Tomas. When all were in place, Aglaranna said, “You have asked for council, Tathar. Now tell us what cause you bring before us.”

  Tathar bowed slightly to the Queen. “We of the council felt it time for an understanding.”

  “Of what, Tathar?” asked the Elf Queen.

  Tathar said, “We have labored long to bring a peaceful, secure ending to this business of Tomas. It is known by all here that our arts were turned to calming the rage within, softening the might of the Valheru, so the young man who was transformed would not be overwhelmed in the course of time.”

  He paused, and Martin leaned close to Tomas. “Trouble.”

  Tomas startled him with a slight smile and a wink. Once more Martin was reassured that the mirthful boy he had known in Crydee was as much present in this young man as the Dragon Lord. “Everything will be fine,” said Tomas in a whisper.

  “We have,” said Tathar, “come to judge this business done, for Tomas is no longer to be feared as an Old One.”

  Aglaranna said, “That is happy news indeed. But is this then cause for a council?”

  “No, lady. Something else must also be laid to rest. For while we no longer fear Tomas, still we will not place ourselves under his rule.”

  Aglaranna stood, outrage clear upon her face. “Who dares to presume this? Has there been a single word from any to suggest that Tomas seeks to rule?”

  Tathar stood firm before his Queen’s displeasure. “My lady, you see with a lover’s eyes.” Before she could answer, he held up his hand. “Speak not sharp words with me, daughter of my oldest friend; I make no accusations. That he shares your bed is no one’s concern save yourself. We begrudge you nothing. But he now has the means of a claim, and we would have the matter settled now.”

  Aglaranna paled, and Tomas stepped forward. “What means?” he said, his voice commanding.

  Tathar looked slightly surprised. “She carries your child. Did you not know?”

  Tomas was bereft of words. Conflicting feelings ran through him. A child! Yet he had not been told. He looked at Tathar. “How do you know?”

  Tathar smiled, and there was no mockery in it. “I am old, Tomas. I can see the signs.”

  Tomas looked to Aglaranna. “It is true?”

  She nodded. “I would not tell you until it was no longer possible to hide the truth.”

  He felt a stab of uncertainty. “Why?”

  “To spare you any worry. Until the war is through, you must put your mind to nothing else. I would not burden you with other thoughts.”

  Tomas stood quietly for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed, a clear, joyous sound. “A child. Praise the gods!”

  Tathar looked thoughtfully at Tomas. “Do you claim the throne?”

  “Aye, I do, Tathar,” Tomas said, a smile upon his face.

  Calin spoke for the first time. “It is my inheritance, Tomas. You will have to contest with me for it.”

  Tomas smiled at Calin. “I will not cross swords with you, son of my beloved.”

  “If you seek to be King among us, then you must.”

  Tomas walked over to Calin. There had never been any affection between them, for more than the others, Calin had feared Tomas’s potential threat to his people and now stood ready to fight if need be.

  Tomas placed his hand upon Calin’s shoulder and looked deeply into his eyes. “You are Heir. I speak not of being your King.” He stepped away and addressed the council. “I am what you see before you, a being of two heritages. I possess the power of the Valheru, though I was not born to it, and my mind remembers ages long gone to dust. But I can remember a boy’s memories and can again feel the joy in laughter and a lover’s touch.” He looked at the Elf Queen. “I claim only the right to sit beside my Queen, with your blessings, as her consort. I will take only what rule she and you give, nothing more. Should you give none, still I will remain at her side.” Then, with firmness, he added, “But I will not stand down from this: our child shall have a heritage unblemished by a sinister birth.”

  There was a general murmur of approval, and Tomas faced Aglaranna. “If you will take me as husband?” he said in the ancient elven language.

  Aglaranna sat with eyes gleaming. She looked to Tathar. “I will. Is there any who denies me the right?”

  Tathar looked around at the other councillors. Seeing no dissension, Tathar said, “It is permitted, my lady.”

  Abruptly there was a shout of approval from the gathered elves, and soon others were coming to investigate the unusual display of activity in the council. They in turn joined in the celebration, for all knew of the Queen’s love for the warrior in white and gold, and they judged him a fit consort.

  Calin said, “You are wise in our ways, Tomas. Had you done otherwise, there would have been strife, or lingering doubt. I thank yo
u for your prudence.”

  Tomas took his hand in a firm grip. “It is only just, Calin. Your claim is without question. When your Queen and I have journeyed to the Blessed Isles, then our child will be your loyal subject.”

  Aglaranna came to Tomas’s side, and Martin joined them, to say, “Joy in all things.” Tomas embraced his friend, as did the Queen.

  Calin shouted for silence. When the noise had died, he said, “It is time for clear speaking. Let all know that what has been fact for years is now openly acknowledged. Tomas is Warleader of Elvandar, and Prince Consort to the Queen. His words are to be obeyed by all save the Queen. I, Calin, have spoken.”

  “And I, too, say this is true,” echoed Tathar. Then the council bowed before the Queen and her husband-to-be.

  Martin said, “It is well I shall leave Elvandar as happiness returns.”

  Aglaranna said, “You are leaving?”

  “I fear I must. There is still a war, and I am still Huntmaster of Crydee. Besides,” he said with a grin, “I fear young Garret is growing overly content to rest and partake of your largess. I must harry him along the trail before he gets fat.”

  “You’ll stay for the wedding?” asked Tomas.

  As Martin began to apologize, Aglaranna said, “The ceremony can be tomorrow.”

  Martin conceded. “One more day? I will be pleased.”

  Another shout went up, and Tomas could see Dolgan pushing through the crowd. When the dwarf chief stood before them, he said, “We were not invited to the council, but when we heard the shouts, we came.” Behind him Tomas and Aglaranna could see the other dwarves approaching.

  Tomas placed his hand upon Dolgan’s shoulder. “Old companion, you are welcome. You have come to a celebration. There is to be a wedding.”

  Dolgan fixed them both with a knowing smile. “Aye, and high time.”

  —

  THE RIDER SPURRED his horse past the lines of Tsurani soldiers. He was still discomforted by the sight of so many of them passing to the east, and the recent enemy watched him ride by with guarded expressions as he headed toward Elvandar.