Magician's End

by Raymond E. Feist

  At a discreet distance away from the others, Janil said to Cetswaya, ‘It is good to meet you at last.’

  He nodded. ‘And you.’

  ‘I have had a vision,’ said Janil, throwing back her hood, so that her grey hair blew freely in the wind. ‘The dragons are in moot and the Ancient Ones again move.’

  ‘Ancient Ones?’ said Cetswaya. ‘There is more than one?’

  ‘There is another,’ she answered, ‘and they fly to meet the dragons.’

  ‘To what purpose?’ asked the shaman.

  ‘I do not know.’ She looked at Cetswaya and he looked away to the south. ‘What do you dream?’

  ‘A great evil arises where our cousins from the stars have made their home, a thing called from the darkest part of the universe. I know we will not prevail on our own.’

  ‘I sense that as well,’ said the old woman. ‘Yet you bring an army. Do you think swords and bows will make a difference?’

  ‘I do not know. It is how we are.’ He smiled slightly. ‘You know how we are.’

  She nodded. All types of elves were related, but it was not a relationship they chose to acknowledge openly if given a choice. The roots of conflict went back to the abandonment of Midkemia by their masters, the Dragon Lords, and the choices made by each group of elves as to how they would live. For centuries the conflict had been bitter.

  ‘Does Liallan bring her entire clan?’

  ‘And allies,’ said Cetswaya.

  ‘And your clan, the Ice Bears?’

  ‘As well.’

  ‘I’ve had other visions,’ said Janil.

  ‘I have also,’ said Cetswaya. ‘But I have always distrusted dream-visions. They are too undependable, too subject to interpretation.’

  ‘Yet you are here.’

  ‘Yes,’ said the old shaman. ‘Did you have a vision of the end?’

  The old Spellweaver was silent for a long minute, then she said, ‘I have seen a pit so dark that light cannot escape from it, a thing so terrible it should not be imagined, let alone exist. I have seen the ending of us all.’ She paused. ‘But I have also seen the closing of that pit, but at great sacrifice, perhaps too great if vain heroics outweigh prudence. May I counsel Liallan?’

  Cetswaya turned and motioned to another elderly elf who came forward. ‘Arjuda,’ said Cetswaya as introduction.

  ‘Janil,’ said the shaman of the Snow Leopards. ‘We have met in dream.’

  ‘We dream of this coming conflict and see an ending. Have you?’

  He shook his head. ‘I have dreamed until a gem is sundered, then I awake.’

  ‘A gem?’

  ‘A ruby of impossible size, as big as a city.’

  Janil said, ‘With all humility, may I advise Liallan?’

  Arjuda looked at Cetswaya, who gave a slight nod.

  ‘I will intercede,’ said Arjuda, and the three magic-users returned to stand before the commander of the moredhel host. Arjuda said to Liallan, ‘The Spellweaver asks permission to advise.’

  Liallan’s eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘You seek to counsel me, Eledhel?’

  ‘If you will permit,’ said Janil.

  ‘Say on, then.’ Liallan leaned forward in the saddle and gave the Spellweaver her full attention.

  Janil said, ‘We have dreamed of dragons and ancient warriors, and a dark pit from which a horror rises.’

  Liallan said nothing.

  ‘We dream of dragons with riders on their backs, and a confrontation from which none here may escape. I argue caution.’

  ‘You’re asking me to turn my army around and go home?’

  ‘What you face is a thing of horror and darkness from the deepest pit in the universe, and it will not rest until it has consumed everything. Your braves will die with their swords in hand or nocking arrows, but they will die. Only the power of our magic can stem its entrance to our world.’

  Liallan fell mute and studied the old Spellweaver. Finally she said, ‘This is your counsel? I am to turn my warriors around and march home?’

  Janil nodded. ‘Let Cetswaya and the other shamans continue.’ She raised a staff and the elf steed hurried to her side. ‘We will ride with them, for every Spellweaver in Elvandar is here!’

  From out of the trees behind Calin and his escort a hundred figures moved, some on foot, others on the backs of the magic horses of Elvandar, but all moved with purpose. Acailia, leader of the eldar, rode a roan stallion. He bowed his head to Liallan and Cetswaya. ‘Leader of the Snow Leopards, I speak for every magic-user in Elvandar. This is our burden. Spare the lives of your young warriors. Let them return home to be fathers and husbands, that your clans may endure should the rest of us prevail.’

  Liallan considered. She turned and motioned for a young warrior to approach. To the elves who didn’t know him, Liallan said, ‘This is Antesh, son of Arkan, who leads the Ice Bears.’ She signalled for another young warrior to ride forward. ‘This is Nadeer, a chieftain of the Snow Leopards, lesser in years, yet gifted.’ She looked at the two young men. ‘Nadeer, I give to Antesh my daughter Kalina as wife. Bear witness.’

  The younger chieftain hid surprise and nodded once.

  ‘Antesh, it seems those of us who ride south are fated for destruction.’ She cast a dubious look at the magic-users. ‘Though experience teaches me that fate is often the servant of those who seize the moment. Still, there is a caution here. While we ride apparently to save the entire world, even those within it we don’t particularly wish to save, our clan’s enemies are still going about their business, plotting and planning.’ She let out a long breath. ‘Antesh, take your Ice Bears back to the camp at Snow River and wait. Nadeer, take your family and the allies and go with him. If I come back, all will be as it was. If I do not, you two are …’ She shrugged. ‘Form a new clan, with a new name, for if you do not, Narab will hunt you down to the last child to ensure that the Snow Leopards are obliterated. Take the combined clans into the north as your father did if you need to, but save our children.’

  If Antesh was disappointed at being ordered to leave, he did not reveal it, but merely nodded his head and said, ‘My father always saw you as the wisest leader among our people, my aunt. I will do as you bid. Kalina will be safe, as will the children of the Snow Leopards at Snow River. On my life.’

  ‘I too will obey,’ said Nadeer.

  The two young men rode to the rear. As they did so, horsemen began to peel away from the ranks behind and follow the two young chieftains, one in five returning north.

  Liallan looked at the two taredhel. ‘And what is your choice?’

  Laromendis almost laughed. ‘I didn’t think we had one. We will continue. E’bar may have been our home for only a short time, but it is our home.’

  Liallan nodded. To the remaining host of dark elves and the light elves’ Spellweavers, she said, ‘Now, let’s move on. I’m feeling a strong need to hunt down this nameless horror and kill it.’

  She raised her arm and signalled the resumption of the march south.

  Hal signalled and Martin waved a red flag, then after a moment a white one. ‘Send a rider to tell him we see perfectly.’ Martin was high above the ancient keep, establishing a warning system to announce Chadwick of Ran’s arrival.

  A soldier saluted and hurried off.

  A shout from behind Hal caused him to look back at his camp and he saw a sentry signalling and pointing down the road. Dust indicated the approach of a company of riders.

  Hal mounted his horse and rode down the hill, past the camp. The five riders wore the prince’s colours, and the fifth rider was familiar. Leaping from his horse, Hal hurried forward as Swordmaster Phillip dismounted. ‘Phillip!’ he said with obvious delight as he hugged the old man to the point of almost lifting him off the ground. ‘We thought you lost!’

  ‘Close, my lord,’ he said, looking at the man he had first handed a sword to as a boy.

  ‘Come, Martin will be overjoyed when he gets back from Sethanon Keep.’

  A sergea
nt in the prince’s livery stepped forward. ‘My lord, a message from his highness.’

  Phillip’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’ll save you the time of reading it. Oliver’s moving.’

  ‘How long ago?’ asked Hal.

  ‘We left Prince Edward’s camp four days ago, riding hard.’

  Glancing at the exhausted horses, Hal said, ‘I can see that.’

  ‘Our spies reported that Oliver broke camp two days before that, so he’s been on the march for six days now. He’ll be reaching Edward in four more, five at the outside. He’s moving slowly and keeping his forces rested.’

  ‘Come, let’s get something to drink and discuss what needs to be done here.’ To the sergeant of Prince Edward’s messenger unit, Hal said, ‘See my sergeant over there.’ He indicated a large soldier in a Crydee tabard. ‘His name is Samuels; have him find you a tent for the night. I’ll see you have fresh mounts to leave tomorrow and I’ll then give you any message I have for the prince.’

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ said the sergeant and indicated for his men to follow him.

  Hal called up a soldier to take Swordmaster Phillip’s mount and care for it, and led the old master-of-arms to the command tent. As they entered, Ty looked up from a spread of maps on the table and smiled broadly. ‘Swordmaster Phillip!’ He gripped the Swordmaster’s hand and said, ‘It’s been a while.’

  ‘Since you won the Master’s Court,’ said Phillip. He glanced at the two young men and said, ‘Good to see you both.’

  Hal dispatched an orderly to fetch wine and food. ‘I assumed you’d fallen along the way. We’ve had no word of you since you departed Roldem to rejoin Father at the western muster.’

  ‘It’s a long story, your grace.’

  ‘Please, it’s still Hal when we’re alone.’

  ‘Hal, it began when we got word of the muster. I found myself seeking a ship to an Isles city in the Sea of Kingdoms. I settled for one on the evening tide bound for Ran. I was with a dozen other masters and nobles hurrying back to the Kingdom, and when we reached Ran, a squad of Chadwick’s palace guard met the ship and placed some of us under arrest.’

  ‘You’ve been in Chadwick’s dungeon?’

  ‘Not quite that grim,’ said Phillip, nodding his thanks when handed a cup of wine by the returning orderly. ‘Some of us were kept in pleasant enough little rooms in the palace, though under guard, and we were even allowed to stroll in the garden overlooking the bay for a few hours a day. I compared notes with the others and we learned that Chadwick had entered into a bargain with Oliver. We were furious he’d do that with a war with Kesh underway, but days stretched into weeks, then into months.’ He sat back. ‘I worried myself sick wondering how you boys and your father were doing.’ He lowered his head as moisture gathered in his eyes. ‘I managed not to hear news of the duke until I reached Prince Edward. I’m so sorry, Hal.’

  ‘He treasured your service, Phillip,’ said Hal. ‘As will I.’ Then he laughed ruefully. ‘Of course, I’m not sure where you’ll serve, as my duchy is chock-full of Keshians at the moment.’

  ‘Once we sort out this business with Oliver and his thugs, we’ll get back to where we once were, I’m sure of it,’ said the Swordmaster.

  ‘On to more pressing matters,’ said Hal. ‘How did you escape from Ran?’

  ‘When Chadwick marshalled his forces to march to join Oliver, a few of us managed to slip over the garden wall and get down to the street between the palace and the road to the harbour. The city was in an uproar with the entire army of Ran leaving. I sold the ring your father gave me, the one with the ruby, and bought horses for myself and the other three who escaped. It was easy enough to slip out of the city with a band of mercenaries, and we were miles away without hearing any alarm about our escape. We rode right past most of Chadwick’s army, circled the van so that he and his councillors wouldn’t recognize any of us, and made for Rodez. There we split up and I used the last of my gold to sail to Salador. When I got there, Bas-Tyra held the city and I found his acting marshal, a captain named Ronsard, who got me a fresh horse and supplies. Then I rode like mad to circle around Oliver’s army, got chased by his skirmishers on the north flank, and reached Edward.’

  ‘And now you’re here,’ said Hal. ‘To my relief.’ He looked at Ty and said, ‘I’m going to change a few things. With Phillip here, I’m going to put you in charge of the ambush.’

  Ty said, ‘That might be fun.’

  ‘You have an odd idea of fun,’ said Hal. He looked at Phillip. ‘We plan on grabbing Chad’s tail like a bulldog and not letting go until he turns away from engaging Edward. Even if we fail to stop him, I hope we can delay him enough that when he reaches Albalyn, Edward will hold the field. If Oliver prevails, it doesn’t matter what we do here.’

  Phillip said, ‘I’ll do whatever you command, my lord.’

  ‘Good,’ said Hal, ‘because I need you to hold a position as if you had a thousand men.’

  ‘How many will I get?’

  ‘Two hundred.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Phillip. ‘Then give me two hundred hard-headed brawlers, and I’ll hold as long as you wish.’

  ‘Good,’ said Hal. ‘Let me show you the plan, and any suggestions to improve it will be welcome.’ They both set aside their wine and looked at the maps.

  Tomas flew above the ocean called the Dragon Sea, knowing where he would find those he sought. Now he didn’t have to try to listen, for the voices of dragon song rang in his mind as if he was hearing it aloud.

  It was a song of hope and fear, terror and joy, as if a cycle of completion was approaching. The inevitability of that completion was reassuring, yet the spectre of the unknown beyond that completion provoked trepidation.

  Of all the creatures Tomas had encountered in his lives and travels, dragons remained distinct and unfathomable. They possessed magic unique to their race: the ability to navigate and survive the void and to shape-change. They had lesser kin, the wyverns and drakes, whose intelligence was at mere animal level. Dragons began as primitive children – large, dangerous children – but with age came the development of their intelligence and magical abilities, and with great age came wisdom.

  Tomas sped across the shore and saw ahead the peaks of the Dragon’s Eyre, the isolated home of dragons on Midkemia. He arced across the sky, a dazzling comet with the reflected sunlight dancing off his golden armour. As he neared his destination, he saw a sight that took even his breath away. Dragons – three or four thousand of them – arrayed in a massive circle. Every known colour turned the gathering into a brilliant display as sunlight glinted from scales of emerald green, azure, ruby, ebony black, silver, and at the centre of the gathering, a knot of golden dragons.

  As he descended, he saw something approaching from the west, a black mote that grew by the second until another figure revealed itself, one he’d not seen in a century and more, but one who was instantly recognizable.

  Tomas landed lightly on his feet, his sword drawn from its scabbard. He swung his white shield with the golden dragon on it off his shoulder and approached the black-and-orange-clad warrior. His ebon blade was out and the tiger face on his black shield snarled in rage. The two warriors approached each other as the dragons formed around them, lining the rocky hillsides, the eldest golden dragons in the first rank, the others behind.

  The two warriors circled within the ring of dragons, who watched silently. The dragons on the hillsides stopped their singing and looked down from their perches on the rocks overlooking the sacred meeting place of their kind.

  ‘Ashen-Shugar,’ said the figure in black-and-orange as he warily observed his opponent, ‘but not.’

  ‘Draken-Korin,’ said Tomas, and he sensed there was something profoundly different about him. ‘But not.’

  A massive golden dragon stepped forward and said, ‘Neither of you is what you were.’

  Tomas paused. ‘Daughter of Ryath?’

  ‘Tomas,’ she bowed her head in greeting. ‘Rylan, and I am of Ryath, daughter
of Ruargh’s line.’

  The figure of Draken-Korin spoke. ‘She called you “Tomas”. Who is Tomas?’

  ‘Whose body is it you wear?’ asked the dragon.

  ‘Braden,’ answered the black-clad warrior. ‘In mortal life I was Braden.’

  ‘You are both the past and the present,’ said Rylan.

  Braden’s mind was awash with memories, his own and Draken-Korin’s, and he found himself caught in a struggle, one that Tomas had decided over a century before.

  Tomas lowered the point of his sword. ‘What do you remember?’ he asked.

  With madness in his eyes, the being before him grinned. ‘Many things, Father-Brother.’ Then he shook his head as if trying to clear it and his expression changed. ‘Many things,’ he whispered, seeming scared. ‘How did this happen?’

  ‘Powerful magic,’ answered Tomas.

  ‘Dragon’s magic,’ said Rylan.

  ‘Dragon-magic?’ asked Braden. The mad gleam entered his eyes again and he hefted his sword as if to attack.

  ‘Time-magic,’ said Tomas, raising his sword and shield. ‘Magic to bring us forward in time, to match the new age and save this world.’

  The two reborn Dragon Lords slowly began to circle. ‘Why?’ asked Draken-Korin. ‘Why magic across time to return me from death?’

  ‘You are but a tool,’ said Rylan, rearing up and spreading her wings. ‘An ill-crafted tool, but useful.’

  The Valheru within Braden broke to the surface and shouted, ‘I am no witless tool of any lesser creature!’ He cast a bolt of energy that struck an invisible barrier before the dragon.

  The dragon dropped her wings and settled down on her haunches. ‘We are so much more than you remember, Valheru.’

  ‘What would you have of me?’ shouted Draken-Korin.

  ‘You are a crucible,’ replied Rylan.

  Spinning as if expecting attack from every side, the human within whom the mind of an ancient being was trapped, shouted, ‘You speak nonsense. I am Draken-Korin! I am the Lord of Tigers! I commanded the Dragon Host!’