When dawn came, the courtyard was still, and only a patch of raw earth, where the shaft had been filled in, and a long depression running from the keep to the outer wall showed anything unusual had occurred in the night.
—
FANNON HOBBLED ALONG the wall, favoring his right side. The wound to his back was almost healed, but he was still unable to walk without aid. Father Tully supported the Swordmaster as they came to where the others waited.
Arutha gave the Swordmaster a smile and gently took him by the other arm, helping Tully hold him. Gardan, Amos Trask, Martin Longbow, and a group of soldiers stood nearby.
“What’s this?” asked Fannon, his display of gruff anger a welcome sight to those on the wall. “Have you so little wits among you that you must haul me from my rest to take charge?”
Arutha pointed out to sea. On the horizon dozens of small flecks could be seen against the blue of sea and sky, flashes of brilliant white glinting as the morning sun was caught and reflected back to them. “The fleet from Carse and Tulan approaches the south beaches.”
He indicated the Tsurani camp in the distance, bustling with activity. “Today we’ll drive them out. By this time tomorrow we’ll clear this entire area of the aliens. We’ll harry them eastward, allowing them no respite. It will be a long time before they’ll come in strength again.”
Quietly Fannon said, “I trust you are right, Arutha.” He stood without speaking for a time, then said, “I have heard reports of your command, Arutha. You’ve done well. You are a credit to your father, and to Crydee.”
Finding himself moved by the Swordmaster’s praise, Arutha tried to make light, but Fannon interrupted. “No, you have done all that was needed, and more. You were right. With these people we must not be cautious. We must carry the struggle to them.” He sighed. “I am an old man, Arutha. It is time I retired and left warfare to the young.”
Tully made a derisive noise. “You’re not old. I was already a priest when you were still in swaddling.”
Fannon laughed with the others at the obvious untruth of the statement, and Arutha said, “You must know, if I’ve done well, it is because of your teachings.”
Tully gripped Fannon’s elbow. “You may not be an old man, but you are a sick one. Back to the keep with you. You’ve had enough gadding about. You can begin walking regularly tomorrow. In a few weeks you’ll be charging about, shouting orders at everyone like your old self.”
Fannon managed a slight smile and allowed Tully to lead him back down the stairs. When he was gone, Gardan said, “The Swordmaster’s right, Highness. You’ve done your father proud.”
Arutha watched the approaching ships, his angular features fixed in an expression of quiet reflection. Softly he said, “If I have done well, it is because I have had the aid of good men, many no longer with us.” He took a deep breath, then continued, “You have played a great part in our withstanding this siege, Gardan, and you, Martin.”
Both men smiled and voiced their thanks. “And you, pirate.” Arutha grinned. “You’ve also played a great part. We are deeply in your debt.”
Amos Trask tried to look modest and failed. “Well, Highness, I was merely protecting my own skin as well as everyone else’s.” He then returned Arutha’s grin. “It was a rousing good fight.”
Arutha looked toward the sea once more. “Let us hope we can soon be done with rousing good fights.” He left the walls and started down the stairs. “Give orders to prepare for the attack.”
—
CARLINE STOOD ATOP the south tower of the keep, her arm around Roland’s waist. The Squire was pale from his wound, but otherwise in hale spirits. “We’ll be done with the siege, now the fleet’s arrived,” he said, clinging tightly to the Princess.
“It has been a nightmare.”
He smiled down at her, gazing into her blue eyes. “Not entirely. There has been some compensation.”
Softly she said, “You are a rogue,” then kissed him. When they separated, she said, “I wonder if your foolish bravery was nothing more than a ploy to gain my sympathies.”
Feigning a wince, he said, “Lady, I am wounded.”
She clung to him. “I was so worried about you, not knowing if you lay dead in the tunnel. I…” Her voice dropped off as her gaze strayed to the north tower of the keep, opposite the one upon which they stood. She could see the window upon the second floor, the window to Pug’s room. The funny little metal chimney, which would constantly belch smoke when he was at his studies, was now only a mute reminder of just how empty the tower stood.
Roland followed her gaze. “I know,” he said. “I miss him, too. And Tomas as well.”
She sighed. “That seems such a long time ago, Roland. I was a girl then, a girl with a girl’s notion of what life and love were about.” Softly she said, “Some love comes like a wind off the sea, while others grow slowly from the seeds of friendship and kindness. Someone once told me that.”
“Father Tully. He was right.” He squeezed her waist. “Either way, as long as you feel, you live.”
She watched as the soldiers of the garrison prepared for the coming sortie. “Will this end it?”
“No, they will come again. This war is fated to last a long time.”
They stood together, taking comfort in the simple fact of each other’s existence.
—
KASUMI OF THE Shinzawai, Force Leader of the Armies of the Kanazawai Clan, of the Blue Wheel Party, watched the enemy upon the castle wall.
He could barely make out the figures walking along the battlements, but he knew them well. He could not put names to any, but they were each as familiar to him as his own men. The slender youth who commanded, who fought like a demon, who brought order to the fray when needed, he was there. The black giant would not be too far from his side, the one who stood like a bulwark against every attack upon the walls. And the green-clad one, who could race through the woods like an apparition, taunting Kasumi’s men by the freedom with which he passed their lines, he would be there as well. No doubt the broad-shouldered one was nearby, the laughing man with the curved sword and maniacal grin. Kasumi quietly saluted them all as valiant foemen, even if only barbarians.
Chingari of the Omechkel, the Senior Strike Leader, came to stand at Kasumi’s side. “Force Leader, the barbarian fleet is nearing. They will land their men within the hour.”
Kasumi regarded the scroll he held in his hand. It had been read a dozen times since arriving at dawn. He glanced at it one more time, again studying the chop at the bottom, the crest of his father, Kamatsu, Lord of the Shinzawai. Silently accepting his personal fate, Kasumi said, “Order for march. Break camp at once and begin assembling the warriors. We are commanded to return to Kelewan. Send the trailbreakers ahead.”
Chingari’s voice betrayed his bitterness. “Now the tunnel is destroyed, do we quit so meekly?”
“There is no shame, Chingari. Our clan has withdrawn itself from the Alliance for War, as have the other clans of the Blue Wheel Party. The War Party is once more alone in the conduct of this invasion.”
With a sigh Chingari said, “Again politics interferes with conquest. It would have been a glorious victory to take such a fine castle.”
Kasumi laughed. “True.” He watched the activities of the castle. “They are the best we have ever faced. We already learn much from them. Castle walls slanted outward at the plinth, preventing sappers from collapsing them, this is a new and clever thing. And those beasts they ride. Ayee, how they move, like Thūn racing across the tundras of home. I will somehow gain some of those animals. Yes, these people are more than simple barbarians.”
After a moment’s more reflection, he said, “Have our scouts and trailbreakers keep alert for signs of the forest devils.”
Chingari spat. “The foul ones move in great number northward once more. They’re as much a dagger in our side as the barbarians.”
Kasumi said, “When this world is conquered, we shall have to see to these creatures. The bar
barians make strong slaves. Some may even prove valuable enough to make free vassals who will swear loyalty to our houses, but those foul ones, they must be obliterated.” Kasumi fell silent for a while. Then he said, “Let the barbarians think we flee in terror from their fleet. This place is now a matter for the clans remaining in the War Party. Let Tasio of the Minwanabi worry about a garrison at his rear should he move eastward. Until the Kanazawai once more realign themselves in the High Council, we are done with this war. Order the march.”
Chingari saluted his commander and left, and Kasumi considered the implications of the message from his father. He knew the withdrawal of all the forces of the Blue Wheel Party would prove a major setback for the Warlord and his party. The repercussions of such a move would be felt throughout the Empire for some years to come. There would be no smashing victories for the Warlord now, for with the departure of those forces loyal to the Kanazawai lords and the other clans of the Blue Wheel, other clans would reconsider before joining in an all-out push. No, thought Kasumi, it was a bold but dangerous move by his father and the other lords. This war would now be prolonged. The Warlord was robbed of a spectacular conquest; he was now overextended with too few men holding too much land. Without new allies he would remain unable to press forward with the war. His choices were now down to two: withdraw from Midkemia and risk humiliation before the High Council, or sit and wait, hoping for another shift in politics at home.
It was a stunning move on behalf of the Blue Wheel. But the risk was great. And the risk from the next series of moves in the Game of the Council would be even more dangerous. Silently he said: O my father, we are now firmly committed to the Great Game. We risk much: our family, our clan, our honor, and perhaps even the Empire itself.
Crumbling the scroll, he tossed it into a nearby brazier, and when it was totally consumed by flame, he put aside thoughts of risk and walked back toward his tent.
This book is dedicated to the memory of my father,
FELIX E. FEIST,
in all ways, a magician
Acknowledgments
Many people have provided me with incalculable aid in bringing this novel into existence. I would like to offer my heartfelt thanks to:
The Friday Nighters: April and Stephen Abrams; Steve Barett; David Brin; Anita and Jon Everson; Dave Guinasso; Conan LaMotte; Tim LeSelle; Ethan Munson; Bob Potter; Rich Spahl; Alan Springer; and Lori and Jeff Velten, for their useful criticism, enthusiasm, support, belief, wise counsel, wonderful ideas, and most of all, their friendship.
Billie and Russ Blake, and Lilian and Mike Fessier, for always being willing to help.
Harold Matson, my agent, for taking a chance on me. Adrian Zackheim, my editor, for asking rather than demanding, and for working so hard to build a good book.
Kate Cronin, assistant to the editor, for having a sense of humor and for so gracefully putting up with all my nonsense.
Elaine Chubb, copy editor, for having such a gentle touch and for caring so much about the words. And Barbara A. Feist, my mother, for all of the above and more.
RAYMOND E. FEIST
San Diego, California July 1982
Acknowledgment to the Revised Edition
On this occasion, the publication of the author’s preferred edition, I would like to add the following names to the preceding list, people who, though not known to me at the time I made the foregoing acknowledgment, proved invaluable aid to me in bringing Magician to the public and contributed materially to my success: Mary Ellen Curley, who took over from Katie and kept us all on course.
Peter Schneider, whose enthusiasm for the work gave me a valued ally within Doubleday and a close friend for the last decade.
Lou Aronica, who bought it even when he really didn’t want to do reprints, and for giving me the chance to return to my first work and “rewrite it one more time.” Pat Lobrutto, who helped before it was his job, and who took over at a tough time, and whose friendship endures beyond our business relationship.
Janna Silverstein, who despite her short tenure as my editor has shown an uncanny knack for knowing when to leave me alone and when to stay in touch. Nick Austin, John Booth, Jonathan Lloyd, Malcolm Edwards, and everyone at Granada, now HarperCollins Books, who made the work an international bestseller. Abner Stein, my British agent, who sold it to Nick in the first place.
Janny Wurts, for being my friend, and who, by working with me on the Empire Trilogy, gave me a completely different perspective on the Tsurani; she helped turn The Game of the Council from a vague concept to a murderously real arena of human conflict. Kelewan and Tsuranuanni are as much her inventions as mine. I drew the outlines and she colored in the details. And Jonathan Matson, who received the torch from a great man’s hand and continued without faltering, for wise counsel and friendship. The acorn fell very close to the tree.
And most of all, my wife Kathlyn S. Starbuck, who understands my pain and joy in this craft because she toils in the same vineyard, and who is always there even when I don’t deserve to have her there, and who makes things make sense through her love.
RAYMOND E. FEIST
San Diego, California April 1991
BY RAYMOND E. FEIST
*Magician: Apprentice
*Magician: Master
*Silverthorn
*A Darkness at Sethanon
*Daughter of the Empire (with Janny Wurts)
*Servant of the Empire (with Janny Wurts)
*Mistress of the Empire (with Janny Wurts)
*Prince of the Blood
*The King’s Buccaneer
*Faerie Tale
Shadow of a Dark Queen
Rise of a Merchant Prince
Rage of a Demon King
Shards of a Broken Crown
Krondor: The Betrayal
Krondor: The Assassins
Krondor: Tear of the Gods
Honoured Enemy (with William R. Forstchen)
Murder in Lamut (with Joel Rosenberg)
Jimmy the Hand (with S. M. Stirling)
Talon of the Silver Hawk
King of Foxes
Exile’s Return
Flight of the Nighthawks
Into a Dark Realm
Wrath of a Mad God
Rides a Dread Legion
At the Gates of Darkness
A Kingdom Besieged
A Crown Imperiled
Magician’s End
*Starred titles available from Bantam Books
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
RAYMOND E. FEIST is the internationally bestselling author or co-author of twenty-one novels, including Magician, Silverthorn, A Darkness at Sethanon, Faerie Tale, The King’s Buccaneer, Talon of the Silver Hawk, and King of Foxes. Feist is a graduate of the University of California, San Diego, and resides in southern California with his family. He travels, collects wine, and lives and dies with the San Diego Chargers.
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