Authors: Raymond E. Feist
Magician’s End (51 page)
‘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!’
‘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.
H
AL 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.