Magician’s End (7 page)

Oaks nodded a greeting and then Martin said, ‘My brother Brendan.’

‘Highness,’ said Oaks in greeting.

‘I think it better to have some proven soldiers rather than a pretty palace guard,’ said Jennings. ‘Sergeant, the princes need an escort to Ylith. Please see they arrive there without difficulties.’ He beat a hasty retreat, obviously relieved to see the brothers depart.

‘Without difficulties?’ said Oaks in neutral tones.

‘I think he means alive,’ said Brendan with a grin.

Oaks returned the smile. ‘We’ll do our best, Highness.’ He turned to his company of riders and shouted, ‘Mount up!’

The twenty soldiers of Oaks’s patrol mounted in orderly fashion, obviously a battle-trained company.

‘Well,’ said Brendan. ‘At least we don’t have to walk.’

‘There is that,’ said Martin. He signalled for the sergeant to lead the company out of the palace yard in Krondor and toward the northern gate, which would put them on the King’s Highway to Ylith.

•
CHAPTER THREE
•

Journey I

P
UG TUMBLED ACROSS THE GROUND.

Quickly coming to his feet, he stood ready to answer any threat that might be awaiting him. The passage through the vortex had been a new experience, something that was almost welcome, given his age.

It had been like sliding through a tunnel that was slippery but not wet, with cascading lights and colours on all sides. He had been neither warm nor cold. If anything, there had been an absence of tactile sensation. Time also seemed suspended, so he couldn’t judge if he had been moving through the vortex for seconds, minutes, or hours.

He shook his head to clear it and glanced around. He was in what appeared to be an alpine forest, at the edge of a meadow. Above him, the sides of a mountain reared up, so he judged he was at the highest point of foothills he would likely traverse without magic. Looking beyond the meadow, he made out a range of mountains receding away. He glanced at the position of the sun in the sky and judged that was south.

He attempted a minor spell to see what conditions he would encounter and discovered the energy state was still not quite what he would expect as ‘normal’ on Midkemia. He was somewhere else and apparently alone. He closed his eyes and attempted to reach out to the demon Child, in her Miranda form, and Magnus, as he had always been able to contact his wife and son that way.

Silence.

He waited in case they might be longer in reaching this planet than he had been. Nothing occurred for long moments until Pug was certain within himself he was alone, his companions elsewhere, perhaps even on different worlds.

He took a deep breath, gauged the downhill slope and began walking.

He made his way slowly down to the floor of the meadow. By any measure this was one of the most peaceful and lovely spots he had visited in a very long time. The air was not quite still, a breath of something not quite a breeze stirred the leaves in the trees and birds called out infrequently. A distant crack, perhaps a tree branch falling, was followed soon after by a bellowing challenge as some animal, perhaps something stag-like, demanded others honour his territory.

Pug took a deep breath. A hint of fragrance told him that flowers were blooming. Wherever he was, it was surely spring.

He chose not to use his magic to transport himself to the other side of the meadow, preferring to wring whatever peace he could from this moment. He knew that conflict was only a matter of time and this tiny bit of tranquillity might be his last.

As he walked across the meadow, he saw a tiny tendril of smoke rising from the trees below. Reaching the edge of the meadow, he found a steep downslope leading to a flatter terrain a hundred feet down. What looked like a game trail presented itself nearby and he followed that down to what looked to be an old cart path. He followed that in the general direction of the smoke until another, smaller clearing appeared, and when he saw the source of the smoke he stopped.

The cottage was identical to the one his mentor, Kulgan, occupied in the woods near Castle Crydee, when he wanted to be alone to contemplate, study, or just enjoy a little solitude with his companion Meecham.

Pug found strong emotions rising, for he was certain that this was another accommodation to his senses, that the structure he observed was somewhat like the cottage he remembered, and that these woods were somewhat like the Green Heart and Forest of Crydee, but that his mind was allowed to manipulate them a little to put him more at ease.

Part of Pug’s mind was captivated by the subtle, nuanced quality to this type of magic, and again he realized that the magic of conjuration and illusion were two areas of magic he had always intended to study more, but never seemed to find the time for it.

He closed his eyes for a moment, used an old calming of the mind exercise he’d learned as a Tsurani Great One, used his skills to dispel illusions, then opened his eyes.

Nothing had changed.

He chuckled. Apparently the mind wants what it wants; no matter how much you think you’re controlling it, it’s controlling you. He knew he’d put that in a lesson to young magicians some years before, but had thought he was beyond that. He reminded himself ruefully of the last time he had blindly assumed he knew what he was doing, when he had attacked the demon Jakan and almost died as a result.

That memory triggered the one following, where he had been forced to make a choice by Lims-Kragma, the Goddess of Death, that he would suffer through the deaths of everyone he loved as a price for returning to the land of the living and ending the threat from the Emerald Queen’s invading army.

His mood no longer lifted by the pastoral beauty around him, he gave in to a moment of pique and willed himself to the threshold of the cottage. Raising his hand, he knocked three times.

A familiar voice he had not heard in ages, but recognized instantly said, ‘Come in.’

Pug could hardly believe his senses as he pushed open the door and immediately recognized the pungent aroma of tabac, a particular blend of mountain-grown aromatic from the foothills of Kesh. A portly figure in a grey homespun robe sat before a table upon which rested an open book. Blue eyes seemed to twinkle above a thick grey beard. ‘Well, you haven’t changed much in all these years, have you, Pug?’

‘Kulgan,’ Pug whispered. Something told him this was no magic likeness before him, no creature of the mind fashioned to resemble someone he trusted, but somehow his old teacher, dead for more than a century, returned to this little cottage in the woods which so resembled where they had first met.

Emotions long absent rushed up within Pug and his eyes welled up. A lifetime of the impossible had not prepared him for this, seeing again his first master, the man who had taken an orphaned kitchen boy and begun the education which had evolved Pug into the most powerful practitioner of magic on two worlds.

Smiling, the old man rose and indicated a pot of water on an iron hook overhanging the fireplace. ‘Fetch that while I get us some tea.’ As he moved away, he added, ‘We have a great deal to discuss, my old friend, and I’m sorry to say, little time in which to discuss it.’

Pug stood rooted for a moment as he struggled with the urge to rush and embrace his boyhood teacher, or start asking questions. Then he smiled, nodded, and just did as he had been asked.

Kulgan chuckled as he put the tea to steep. ‘I take it you are as surprised as I am,’ he began, glancing over his shoulder at his former pupil.

‘A great deal has occurred since …’

‘I died,’ supplied Kulgan. ‘Yes, exactly how long has it been?’

‘Over a century,’ said Pug.

‘Hmmm,’ mused the teacher. ‘So, continue.’

Pug took a moment to breathe deeply. ‘I need help,’ he said at last.

‘Ah,’ said Kulgan.

The cottage was not exactly as Pug remembered it, but he was at a loss to know if that was due to an imperfect replication or his own faulty memory. He asked, ‘Where are we? This is not your cottage in the woods south of the keep at Crydee.’

Kulgan shrugged again. ‘I’m not certain. For here’s the thing, Pug: my last memory is lying sick abed in Stardock, Meecham hovering like a mother hen as he always did, having said my goodbye to you. Age weighed heavily on my soul and I was tired to the core of my being. Your generosity with the healing priests was appreciated: I was free of pain, but I knew my time had come.’ He paused, a bemused expression crossing his wrinkled old visage. ‘I closed my eyes, then this odd thing … As I was drifting into darkness there was this momentary …’ He shrugged. ‘I am not sure how to describe it, but a cut, as cold as the coldest ice or stone, slicing through my being, then suddenly it was gone, the pain vanishing before it registered, but so vivid that in the fading of life, it was my first recollection as, instead of arising in the halls of Lims-Kragma, I found myself there.’ He pointed to the oversized bed in the corner of the room. ‘Apparently three or four hours ago.’

He picked up the pot and poured Pug’s tea and his own, then indicated with a wave a small pot of honey. Pug shook his head, and Kulgan went on, ‘I felt wonderful. There is no looking-glass, but I suspect I am now a great deal younger than when I died.’ He laughed. ‘It is an odd thing to say, isn’t it? My favourite robe was folded at the foot of the bed.’ He plucked at the fabric. ‘My sandals, my staff too. After I had dressed, I wandered about a little, trying to determine where I was, and shouted, but no one answered.’ He sat down opposite Pug and said, ‘When I returned, I found a lovely meal to break my fast and must admit to relishing every bite.’ He pointed to a small washbasin of stone next to the stove. A tidy pile of dishes rested within. ‘I have no idea who prepared it for me. I had a faint hope it might have been my man Meecham, but I knew by then this was not Crydee. This is not Midkemia, is it?’

Pug shook his head.

Sighing, Kulgan said, ‘I really knew that. I feel too good, Pug. I don’t mean relative to my dying or even the last few years of life. I feel invigorated here in a way I haven’t since years before I met you, and while I’ve resisted the temptation to use any of my arts, I suspect they will prove effective beyond my expectation.’

Pug smiled. Kulgan had had as quick an intuitive grasp of the underlying nature of magic as any being he had ever known. ‘There’s a heightened energy state in this world. We are in a different realm of magic, I think, than Midkemia. I suspect if you tried that trick of lighting your tabac pipe with a flame from your finger you might burn this cottage down.’

Kulgan laughed and Pug was suddenly struck by how much he had missed that sound. A bittersweet pang followed that recognition, for as certain as Pug was about anything else, he knew this visit with his old mentor would be brief. He said, his voice heavy with emotion, ‘I have lost so many beloved friends, and you were first among them. It’s so good to see you again.’

Kulgan’s blue eyes misted. He reached out and took Pug’s hand for a moment. ‘I suppose a summary of the past hundred years is impossible.’

Pug laughed.

‘So, perhaps if there’s time later we might speak of what happened after I died. Though waking up here and finding you …’ He peered at Pug for a moment, then smiled. ‘Slightly more grey than last I saw you was not something I expected.’ He reached absently for the pouch where he kept his pipe and tabac and found it absent. ‘Ah,’ he said in an aggrieved tone. ‘Not perfect!’

Pug smiled. ‘The older I get, the less I know, Kulgan.’

‘It’s always thus,’ answered the greybeard. ‘Still, our paths hardly crossed by chance, and one supposes in these circumstances that there’s little logic in having us flail about wondering why we’re here. What are you about these days and how do you require help?’

‘I am trying to save Midkemia,’ said Pug, ‘and apparently a large chunk of the universe along with it. And I am far from home and uncertain how to return there.’

Kulgan tapped his fingers absently. ‘It would be easier to think had I my pipe.’

Suddenly his pipe and a bag of tabac appeared on the table.

Both Pug and Kulgan looked around the cottage. ‘We are being observed,’ Kulgan said. He opened the pouch eagerly, took a long sniff, then said in satisfied tones, ‘That’s the very thing!’

Pug watched with an unexpected pleasure as his old teacher filled the bowl, and looked around for a taper, and saw one next to the small fire he had used for heating water for the tea. He reached over and with a wave of his hand caused the taper to come flying across the room. It smacked his palm hard enough that he recoiled. ‘That hurt!’ he yelped.

‘I told you magic here would be … more intense,’ said Pug.

Leaning over to retrieve the taper, Kulgan said, ‘I’m glad I heeded you enough not to light it with my finger.’ They both laughed.

Kulgan lit his pipe and drew in a mouthful of pungent smoke, then let it out. ‘Ah!’ Taking another, quicker pull, he blew out smoke and said, ‘So, let us be about this quickly, for I suspect our time together is limited.’

Pug paused. So much was woven together in his own mind, going back to his very first encounter with the Dread when he and Tomas were searching for Macros the Black at the end of the Great Uprising. Quickly, he discarded all superfluous information and guided Kulgan through the evolution of his awareness of the various forces at play.

‘What I know and what I find highly probable is that an agency of vast destruction seeks entrance into our universe.’ He briefly recounted his discovery of the Dasati world and what he had encountered there, and what he had learned from Nakor and Miranda about the demon realm, and concluded, ‘Apparently this universe or universes is an intertwined, organic thing, but like an onion, has many layers. So, to anticipate you, Kulgan, I have far more questions than I have answers. But I do know that something for many years has been trying to neutralize threats to its plan, through agencies brutal as well as subtle, on scales that defy understanding, but all with one aim: to enter Midkemia and either conquer or destroy it.’ Pug continued his narrative, leading up to the discovery of the matrix on the Island of the Serpent Men and the trap that had apparently blown him into this world, wherever it was.