Magician's End

by Raymond E. Feist

  ‘You are here for one purpose only,’ said Rylan. ‘You must kill Tomas.’

  Tomas nodded as if he knew this was what the dragon would say. He readied himself for what he knew would be the last struggle of his life.

  Ashen-Shugar awoke in a dark cave, and by sheer will brought into existence a tiny sliver of light. He was alone and had been dying for what seemed ages. Memories not his own plagued him and he knew that time was turned upon itself, and yet in some profound way he also knew this was as it must be.

  ‘You will return,’ said a voice, and he recognized it as a dragon’s voice, but it was not the voice of a dragon he knew.

  ‘When?’ he said as his eyes grew heavy again.

  ‘When you are needed. For you alone can save this world, child of the First Born, Lord of Power.’

  Weakly, as he closed his eyes, Ashen-Shugar, said, ‘I abide.’

  The two ancient warriors circled and battle was joined. Ashen-Shugar had faced his brother-son twice before and both times had emerged victorious, once when he had been terribly weakened by what he had contributed to the entity that assaulted the newly birthing gods, and the second time when he was no more than an echo of his former self, attempting to gain access to the Lifestone.

  Now he faced an equal, a human brought to full power by the ancient magic of the Valheru. As he feinted, moved, and readied himself for the onslaught he knew was coming, Tomas marvelled at how alive he felt. In the years since the coming of the Tsurani, he had approached this level of vitality only during the Riftwar, when what he saw then as ‘madness’ descended on him and he slew wantonly. It was a bloodlust that was wholly a thing of the Valheru, overwhelming whatever human limits were placed on him.

  In Braden he faced a Valheru spirit hardly tempered at all, for Braden was a murderer with no remorse or sense of wrongdoing in his life: no love for another softened Draken-Korin’s rage. For Ashen-Shugar to be victorious, Tomas would have to die.

  Draken-Korin’s patience failed, as Ashen-Shugar knew it would, and he attacked. The older Valheru easily deflected the blow and struck back, his own blade being blocked as effortlessly as the first attack. They measured, they stalked, and they kept looking for that opening.

  Back and forth blows rained, none coming close to finding a weak point. The contest was balanced, for the single-minded rage of Draken-Korin, overwhelming Braden in moments, was offset by the decades of Ashen-Shugar being tempered by Tomas who remained in control, bringing focus and discipline to the struggle. Wrath clashed with reason.

  The dragons watched. This was a struggle that would continue for hours, perhaps days, but that was trivial. It was a struggle that had been destined since the dawn of time.

  • CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR •

  Battles

  HAL WATCHED THE APPROACHING RIDERS.

  He peered from behind a rock on top of the ridge next to the southern road into Sethanon. Half an hour earlier, the signal flag from the keep tower had warned of the approach of the Duke of Ran’s scouts. Messages had been relayed to every commander for every man to stay out of sight. Fires behind the ridge had been banked to prevent any smoke giving away their position. Scabbards had been muted with cloth and horses had been led away. All Hal could do was wait.

  The scouts rode down the road casually, grown lax after days of encountering no living soul. They even split up to expedite their search of the city and were sloppy in that task. One entered the keep, rode a lazy circle of the bailey, looking up at the empty windows of the keep hall and towers, then rode out, not realizing an arrow had been pointed at him the entire time.

  The other rider had peered into broken windows and fallen doors, looked into empty buildings, and ridden quickly past dozens of others, also not realizing he was but a string’s release from a quick death.

  When the two scouts finished, they met on the south side of the city, spoke briefly, then began to ride up the hill toward Hal’s position. Hal had half a dozen men on either side of the road ready to ambush them, preventing either from escaping to carry word.

  Then one halted a hundred yards from the ridge and pointed at the angle of the sun. ‘We’re not going to get much farther before we have to turn back, anyway. His grace will probably want to poke around in the old city as well.’

  The other turned his horse. ‘Very well. This is enough for today. I don’t know about poking around in the city. His grace may want to camp outside: they say it’s cursed.’

  ‘Cursed?’ said the other one as they moved away. ‘I never heard …’ His voice trailed away as the two riders cantered their horses north in a leisurely fashion.

  Hal had judged it a fortunate turn that had them arrive at that time of day, as Chadwick’s forces would be arriving perhaps an hour before sundown, tired from a long march, expecting to make camp in peace.

  He called a hasty meeting with Martin, Ty, Hokada, and Phillip. ‘Two choices: hit them before they’ve established a perimeter, or at first light tomorrow as they muster?’

  It was the Earl of LaMut who answered first. ‘Just as they halt would be ideal. Their horses and men will be tired, the men will be thinking about digging trenches, setting a perimeter, food, taking a piss, everything except fighting.’

  Phillip said, ‘Agreed. That extra moment or two when they have to reassess their situation will be better tonight than in the morning when they’re rested. We can’t hit them before sunrise or we’ll have none of our planned advantages.’

  ‘Ty,’ said Hal, ‘can you have your men in place before they return?

  ‘If I leave now.’

  Hal nodded and Ty was off, rounding up the men detailed to his command. Hal turned to his brother. ‘Martin, you need to be as clever as you were at Crydee, because both you and Phillip need to convince Chadwick that your commands are ten times the size they are.’

  Martin put out his hand and Hal gripped it. ‘I won’t fail you, brother,’ he said.

  Phillip put his hand upon theirs. ‘I will not fail you either, your grace.’

  ‘Go,’ said Hal and the two left to make ready.

  Turning to Hokada, Hal said, ‘You’ve got a lot of riding to do, my lord.’

  The Earl of LaMut smiled. ‘It’s what we do best, your grace.’

  ‘Then go,’ said Hal, and the earl departed.

  Now all Hal could do was wait.

  Hal and Martin watched as Chadwick’s forces moved slowly along the old logging road that skirted the Dimwood and had once served as the main conduit from local farms to this old city. By royal proclamation the city had been ordered abandoned after the first battle. It had been an easy edict to enforce, as the earl had died in battle, leaving no heir, and most of the city had been reduced to ruin by the invading army of the false Murmandamus. Nothing before or since had been seen like the forces he commanded; even the reclusive and hardly seen giants, those twelve-foot-tall brutes from the north, the mountain trolls, and every goblin in the north had joined with the clans of the moredhel at Sethanon. Hal had read the reports on the last battle here, but he knew his family lore, passed down to him by his father, from his father before, back to Lord Martin, fourth Duke of Crydee, who had been brother to Prince Arutha and King Lyam. He knew about the family secret: that once there had been a great treasure called the Lifestone below this abandoned city which had been the true object of the massive moredhel and goblin army that had sacked Sethanon. Murmandamus had proved to be a sham, a Pantathian Serpent Priest ensorcelled to look like the ancient moredhel hero, returned from the dead.

  A second battle had been fought here as well, though by then the city had been left to dust. This time, the Lifestone had been retrieved. Prince Calis, a being combining the blood of human and elf with the magic of the Dragon Lords, had unlocked the Lifestone and released all the pent-up life-force confined inside it, ensuring it could never be used as a weapon. The city’s reputation for ill fortune had been so real that no one dared return, despite the proximity to good water, fine farming land, and
potentially rich trade routes. Hal thought it ironic, for he had lost his own duchy to what were essentially starving Keshians looking for good land upon which to raise crops, breed livestock, and live in peace, and here sat a massive stretch of the best farmland in the Kingdom, empty because of an imagined curse. Where once commerce had thrived in the region, now empty villages and abandoned inns marked a territory crossed by unused roads.

  And down one such road marched the army of Ran.

  Hal turned to Martin and said, ‘Time to start the mummery.’

  Martin nodded and hurried off at a crouch so he would not be seen above the ridge. He would pass word to Phillip, then head downslope to where his mount waited, and ride to his command.

  A hundred soldiers had worked frantically to erect a false growth of thorn bushes running along the ridge to the right of Hal’s position, behind a string of rocks hauled into place over the last few days by furiously labouring soldiers. They had created a chest-high stonework that hid a hundred archers.

  To the right of them waited two hundred heavy footmen from Crydee under Swordmaster Phillip’s command. Behind Hal a squad of soldiers waited, each holding a blockade barrier – simple long logs of wood to which wooden spikes had been affixed. Each barrier required two men to move it, and although a mere annoyance to infantry unless they were very closely packed, they would be a crucial barrier to horses.

  Hal peered over the rise and waited until he saw the van of Chadwick’s army reach the agreed-upon point in the road. It was assumed that within a hundred yards of that point, the order to halt and make camp would come, so everyone in Hal’s company watched and waited. The signal to attack would be given by the Duke of Ran himself.

  For another minute the column moved ahead, then a figure at the front raised his hand and ordered a halt.

  Hal stood up and signalled the attack as the afternoon sun lowered in the west.

  Tomas felt a burning pain across his shoulder and realized Draken-Korin’s ebon blade had finally sliced through the golden chain links under his tabard. He’d not deflected it cleanly as he dropped the top of his shield too low and the blade had gained purchase for an instant.

  Both warriors sported half a dozen minor wounds and an assortment of bruises. They were still in the stage of gauging one another. The dragons observed the conflict silently.

  Twice before these two had faced each other, and twice before Ashen-Shugar had emerged victorious. This time the rage of Draken-Korin the Dragon Lord was wed to the years of experience of a practised mercenary who had endured every type of brawl and battle imaginable. He brought an entirely new array of battle skills to the conflict, and Tomas knew he was equally matched.

  Both possessed the power of the Valheru, and fatigue would not become a factor until long after the point where a mortal would have fallen exhausted, but failing concentration might be a factor soon, and that could prove deadly. Tomas stepped back for a moment, braced and waited for the next attack as the sun lowered in the west.

  Prince Edward stood in front of his pavilion, his advisors and generals surrounding him. On the field below, the armies of Prince Oliver were deploying. Edward said, ‘Looks as if he brought all the Eastern Kingdoms with him.’

  The Duke of Yabon said, ‘Just those that can fight.’

  Prince Edward turned to Brendan conDoin. ‘From the look of that column, it will take him another full day to get his forces in place.’

  ‘Thinking of attacking first?’ asked Lord Sutherland, stroking his grey whiskers.

  ‘No,’ said Edward. ‘It looks tempting, but I’d rather have Oliver attacking uphill against our prepared positions than abandon them after all this work.’ He turned to Brendan. ‘Son, send word along the line to be wary.’ He glanced westward toward the late-afternoon sun. ‘There’s no chance Oliver will move soon, but we still have to be alert for mischief.’

  Brendan saluted and hurried off. ‘Smart lad,’ said Lord Sutherland. ‘I overheard him telling his brothers about some business out at Sorcerer’s Isle and he managed to present some astonishing facts in a very workmanlike way.’

  Edward said, ‘He’s a conDoin, like his brothers. They’re a special lot. Always have been, and we’ll need all three of them before this is over.’ He fell silent as the armies of his enemy continued to form up across the field.

  Hal hurried down the ridge road to his waiting horse and mounted quickly as Swordmaster Phillip started his part of the attack. From behind the rocky wall at the ridge each man stood and shouted, shaking poles and stakes. Each had attached to it anything that could be found to reflect light. It was Hal’s hope that from Chadwick’s position it would appear as if many more men were dug in at the ridge than were actually there. To heighten the illusion, fires were started and torches run back and forth behind the defenders, making the defence look busy preparing for Chadwick’s attack. The men with the heavy log barriers began rolling them down the road towards the oncoming army of Ran, their embedded short spikes causing them to bounce and careen down the hill.

  Hal couldn’t afford the time to look: he rode with five guards around to the west, looping past a series of concealing hills, on a course that would bring him to the south-western corner of Sethanon. As he rode past a squad of heavy cavalry, he waved to Martin, who returned his wave. Hal held up one hand, signalling for his men to wait, then pointed at his own eyes and then towards the field, indicating that Martin should watch for the agreed-upon deployment of the enemy before acting. Martin signalled he understood.

  Chadwick did exactly as Hal had hoped, ordering his company up the road in column. The horses were tired and the company was almost entirely heavy cavalry, supported by a dozen bowmen in the van. The faster archers moved out swiftly uphill, only to discover a careening, tumbling mass of wooden logs with spikes rolling down the road, bouncing towards them.

  The horses reared and the riders tried frantically to turn out of harm’s way, but discovered the road had been bounded on the right by a heavy berm upon which grew a massive thicket of thorns and briars. Suddenly half a dozen archers behind the wall stood up and started firing on the lead horsemen.

  The column of infantry moved left, the soldiers leading the charge instinctively moving away from the horses on their right. They stepped off the road and there found a narrow strip of ground bordered by an equally heavy thicket, leaving them scant room to move. Then suddenly the ground on the other side of the thicket seemed to erupt with archers, who appeared to have jumped up out of the ground. Hidden from sight by a trench frantically dug over three days behind the heavy screening of thorn, Ty had waited with a company of two dozen archers, lying beneath a cloth disguised with earth and grass.

  What had begun as a steady march up the road was now grinding to a milling confusion as the soldiers and horsemen in the rear had to halt as those ahead stopped. The infantry on the left turned to face Ty’s squad, as there was an enemy they could see. Someone shouted an order to charge and they set out, using their shields to crash through the heavy thicket.

  Suddenly men were falling and screaming as they plunged into deep holes filled with sharpened stakes. Hal had not had enough time to dig many of them, but the few that the men from Ran encountered were halting the charge as effectively as if the infantry had hit a stone wall.

  Caught in a cross-fire of bowmen to their east and from behind the wall to the south, the infantry tried to re-order as sergeants shouted commands in the chaos. The horsemen were taking constant fire from the archers above them and could not get their column turned around. Ty’s men would keep up a steady fire as they withdrew to the south-east, and at Ty’s command would turn and run up and behind the sheltering rocks where Phillip’s infantry waited, should Ran’s army try to flank the archers.

  Then, from the rear of the stalled infantry and cavalry, a column of horsemen under Hokada’s leadership and wearing the grey and blue of LaMut and the grinning wolf’s head on their tabards, erupted from locations within the abandoned city. The t
hirty archers took aim at the rear of the heavy cavalry who were trying to discover what confusion ahead was delaying them, and unleashed a barrage of arrows. Four horsemen fell from their saddles as the rear of the column turned and offered pursuit.

  Exactly as Hal had hoped.

  A full third of Chadwick’s heavy cavalry took off after the LaMutian cavalry in an attempt to crush them by numbers and armour. Hokada led his men in a looping course to the north and then east that brought them around on the other side of the infantry column. He shouted a command and his men turned and loosed their arrows, then spurred their mounts away at a gallop without looking at the results.

  From his position Hal could see a pair of riders taken out of saddle before he lost sight of that aspect of the conflict. He rode through a part of the western foubourg and the open gates to the main city, where his heavy cavalry waited out of sight. He signalled for them to fall in behind him and took his command down the central avenue of Sethanon, leading them out of the eastern gate half a mile away and into the heart of Chadwick’s column.

  As Hal had planned, Martin rode his column into the bunched-up cavalry a hundred feet away so that the heavy riders from Ran were slammed by two attacking columns within moments. The horses screamed as they were pushed into the milling infantry that was now frantically trying not to be crushed by the falling horses and the attacking men of Crydee and LaMut.

  Ran’s officers were gathered in a knot at the head of the column, separated by the mass of troops gathered between them and the attackers. Hal could not make out a single badge so he could not tell which rider was Chadwick, but he saw they were all in a frenzy to get away from the bowshots coming from the head of the column, despite being blocked by the mass of their own men.

  Hal tried to shout an order, but suddenly had a footman from Ran grabbing at his stirrup, attempting to unseat him. He had lost the advantage of mobility and faced the same risk any other rider did – to be dragged from his mount – which would likely mean death.