Magician (11 page)

Lady Mama looked ready to faint, and
the Duke pointedly coughed, motioning with his head for his daughter
to retire. As she left with the Lady Marna, Kulgan and Fannon simply
let their amusement show, as did Lyam and Arutha. Roland shot Pug an
angry, envious look, then turned and headed off toward his own
quarters. Lord Borric said to Kulgan, “Take this boy to his
room. He looks exhausted. I’ll order food sent to him. Have him
come to the great hall after tomorrow’s morning meal.” He
turned to Pug. “Again, I thank you.” The Duke motioned
for his sons to follow and walked away. Fannon gripped Tomas by the
elbow, for the sandy-haired boy had started to speak with his friend.
The old Swordmaster motioned with his head that the boy should come
with him, leaving Pug in peace. Tomas nodded, though he was burning
with a thousand questions.

When they had all left, Kulgan placed
his arm around the boy’s shoulder. “Come, Pug. You’re
tired, and there is much to speak of.”

Pug lay back on his pallet, the remains
of his meal lying on a platter next to him. He couldn’t
remember ever having been this tired before Kulgan paced back and
forth across the room. “It’s absolutely incredible.”
He waved a hand in the air, his red robe surging over his heavy frame
like water flowing over a boulder. “You close your eyes, and
the image of a scroll you saw weeks before appears. You incant the
spell, as if you were holding the scroll in your hand before you, and
the trolls fall. Absolutely incredible.” Sitting down on the
stool near the window, he continued. “Pug, nothing like this
has ever been done before. Do you know what you’ve done?”

Pug started from the edge of a warm,
soft sleep and looked at the magician. “Only what I said I did,
Kulgan.”

“Yes, but do you have any idea
what it means?”

“No.”

“Neither do I.” The
magician seemed to collapse inside as his excitement left, replaced
by complete uncertainty. “I don’t have the slightest idea
what it all means. Magicians don’t toss spells off the top of
their heads. Clerics can, but they have a different focus and
different magic. Do you remember what I taught you about focuses,
Pug?”

Pug winced, not being in the mood to
recite a lesson, but forced himself to sit up. “Anyone who
employs magic must have a focus for the power he uses. Priests have
power to focus their magic through prayer; their incantations are a
form of prayer Magicians use their bodies, or devices, or books and
scrolls.”

“Correct,” said Kulgan,
“but you have just violated that truism.” He took out his
long pipe and absently stuffed tabac into the bowl. “The spell
you incanted cannot use the caster’s body as a focus It has
been developed to inflict great pain upon another. It can be a very
terrible weapon. But it can be cast only by reading from a scroll
that it is written upon, at the time it’s cast. Why is this?”

Pug forced leaden eyelids open. “The
scroll itself is magic.”

“True. Some magic is intrinsic to
the magician, such as taking on the shape of an animal or smelling
weather. But casting spells outside the body, upon something else,
needs an external focus Trying to incant the spell you used from
memory should have produced terrible pain in you, not the trolls, if
it would have worked at all! That is why magicians developed scrolls,
books, and other devices, to focus that sort of magic in a way that
will not harm the caster. And until today, I would have sworn that no
one alive could have made that spell work without the scroll in
hand.”

Leaning against the windowsill, Kulgan
puffed on his pipe for a moment, gazing out into space. “It’s
as if you have discovered a completely new form of magic,” he
said softly. Hearing no response, Kulgan looked down at the boy, who
was deeply asleep. Shaking his head in wonder, the magician pulled a
cover over the exhausted boy. He put out the lantern that hung on the
wall and let himself out. As he walked up the stairs to his own room,
he shook his head. “Absolutely incredible.”

Pug waited as the Duke held court in
the great hall. Everyone in the keep and town who could contrive a
way to gain entrance to the audience was there. Richly dressed
Craftmasters, merchants, and minor nobles were in attendance. They
stood regarding the boy with expressions ranging from wonder to
disbelief. The rumor of his deed had spread through the town and had
grown in the telling.

Pug wore new clothing, which had been
in his room when he awoke In his newfound splendor he felt
self-conscious and awkward. The tunic was a bright yellow affair of
the costliest silk, and the hose were a soft pastel blue. Pug tried
to wiggle his toes in the new boots, the first he had ever worn.
Walking in them seemed strange and uncomfortable. At his side a
jeweled dagger hung from a black leather belt with a golden buckle in
the form of a gull in flight. Pug suspected the clothing had once
belonged to one of the Duke’s sons, put aside when outgrown,
but still looking new and beautiful.

The Duke was finishing the morning’s
business: a request from one of the shipwrights for guards to
accompany a lumber expedition to the great forest. Borric was
dressed, as usual in black, but his sons and daughter wore their
finest court regalia. Lyam was listening closely to the business
before his father Roland stood behind him, as was the custom. Arutha
was in rare good humor, laughing behind an upraised hand at some quip
Father Tully had just made. Carline sat quietly, her face set in a
warm smile, looking directly at Pug, which was adding to his
discomfort—and Roland’s irritation.

The Duke gave his permission for a
company of guards to accompany the craftsmen into the forest. The
Craftmaster gave thanks and bowed, then returned to the crowd,
leaving Pug alone before the Duke. The boy stepped forward as Kulgan
had told him to do and bowed properly, albeit a little stiffly,
before the Lord of Crydee. Borric smiled at the boy and motioned to
Father Tully. The priest removed a document from the sleeve of his
voluminous robe and handed it to a herald. The herald stepped forward
and unrolled the scroll.

In a loud voice he read: “To all
within our demesne: Whereas the youth Pug, of the castle of Crydee,
has shown exemplary courage in the act of risking life and limb in
defense of the royal person of the Princess Carline, and; Whereas the
youth, Pug of Crydee, is considered to hold us forever in his debt;
It is my wish that he be known to all in the realm as our beloved and
loyal servant, and it is furthermore wished that he be given a place
in the court of Crydee, with the rank of Squire, with all rights and
privileges pertaining thereunto. Furthermore let it be known that the
title for the estate of Forest Deep is conferred upon him and his
progeny as long as they shall live, to have and to hold, with
servants and properties thereupon. Title to this estate shall be held
by the crown until the day of his majority. Set this day by my hand
and seal. Borric conDoin, third Duke of Crydee; Prince of the
Kingdom; Lord of Crydee, Carse, and Tulan; Warden of the West;
Knight-General of the King’s Armies; heir presumptive to the
throne of Rillanon.”

Pug felt his knees go slack but caught
himself before he fell. The room erupted in cheers. People were
pressing around him, offering their congratulations and slapping him
on the back. He was a Squire and a landholder with franklins, a
house, and stock. He was rich. Or at least he would be in three years
when he reached his majority. While he was considered a man of the
Kingdom at fourteen, grants of land and titles couldn’t be
conferred until he reached eighteen. The crowd backed away as the
Duke approached, his family and Roland behind. Both Princes smiled at
Pug, and the Princess seemed positively aglow. Roland gave Pug a
rueful smile, as if in disbelief.

“I’m honored, Your Grace,”
Pug stammered. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Then say nothing, Pug. It makes
you seem wise when everyone is babbling. Come, and we’ll have a
talk.” The Duke motioned for a chair to be placed near his own,
as he put an arm around the boy’s shoulders and walked him
through the crowd. Sitting down, he said, “You may all leave us
now. I would speak with the Squire.” The crowd pressing around
muttered in disappointment, but began to drift out of the hall.
“Except you two,” the Duke added, pointing toward Kulgan
and Tully.

Carline stood by her father’s
chair, a hesitant Roland at her side. “You as well, my child,”
said the Duke.

Carline began to protest, but was cut
off by her father’s stern admonition: “You may pester him
later, Carline.” The two Princes stood at the door, obviously
amused at her outrage, Roland tried to offer his arm to the Princess,
but she pulled away and swept by her grinning brothers. Lyam clapped
Roland on the shoulder as the embarrassed Squire joined them. Roland
glared at Pug, who felt the anger like a blow.

When the doors clanged closed and the
hall was empty, the Duke said, “Pay no heed to Roland, Pug My
daughter has him firmly under her spell, he counts himself in love
with her and wishes someday to petition for her hand.” With a
lingering look at the closed door, he added almost absently, “But
he’ll have to show me he’s more than the rakehell he’s
growing into now if he ever hopes for my consent.”

The Duke dismissed the topic with a
wave of his hand. “Now, to other matters. Pug, I have an
additional gift for you, but first I want to explain something to
you.

“My family is among the oldest in
the Kingdom. I myself am descended from a King, for my grandfather,
the first Duke of Crydee, was third son to the King. Being of royal
blood, we are much concerned with matters of duty and honor. You are
now both a member of my court and apprentice of Kulgan. In matters of
duty you are responsible to him. In matters of honor you are
responsible to me. This room is hung with the trophies and banners of
our triumphs. Whether we have been resisting the Dark Brotherhood in
their ceaseless effort to destroy us, or fighting off pirates, we
have ever fought bravely. Ours is a proud heritage that has never
known the stain of dishonour. No member of our court has ever brought
shame to this hall, and I will expect the same of you.”

Pug nodded, tales of glory and honor
remembered from his youth spinning in his mind. The Duke smiled. “Now
to the business of your other gift. Father Tully has a document that
I asked him to draw up last night. I am going to ask him to keep it,
until such time as he deems fit to give it to you. I will say no more
on the subject, except that when he gives it to you, I hope you will
remember this day and consider long what it says.”

“I will, Your Grace.” Pug
was sure the Duke was saying something very important, but with all
the events of the last half hour, it did not register very well.

“I will expect you for supper,
Pug. As a member of the court, you will not be eating meals in the
kitchen anymore.” The Duke smiled at him. “We’ll
make a young gentleman out of you, boy. And someday when you travel
to the King’s city of Rillanon, no one will fault the manners
of those who come from the court of Crydee.”

T
he
breeze was cool.

The last days of summer had passed, and
soon the rams of autumn would come. A few weeks later the first snows
of winter would follow. Pug sat in his room, studying a book of
ancient exercises designed to ready the mind for spell casting. He
had fallen back into his old routine once the excitement of his
elevation to the Duke’s court had worn off.

His marvelous feat with the trolls
continued to be the object of speculation by Kulgan and Father Tully.
Pug found he still couldn’t do many of the things expected of
an apprentice, but other feats were beginning to come to him. Certain
scrolls were easier to use now, and once, in secret, he had tried to
duplicate his feat.

He had memorized a spell from a book,
one designed to levitate objects. He had felt the familiar blocks in
his mind when he tried to incant it from memory. He had failed to
move the object, a candleholder, but it trembled for a few seconds
and he felt a brief sensation, as if he had touched the holder with a
part of his mind. Satisfied that some sort of progress was being
made, he lost much of his former gloom and renewed his studies with
vigor.

Kulgan still let him find his own pace.
They had had many long discussions on the nature of magic, but mostly
Pug worked in solitude.

Shouting came from the courtyard below.
Pug walked to his window. Seeing a familiar figure, he leaned out and
cried, “Ho! Tomas! What is afoot?” Tomas looked up.

“Ho! Pug! A ship has foundered in
the night. The wreck has beached beneath Sailor’s Grief. Come
and see.”

“I’ll be right down.”

Pug ran to the door, pulling on a
cloak, for while the day was clear, it would be cold near the water.
Racing down the stairs, he cut through the kitchen, nearly knocking
over Alfan, the pastry cook. As he bolted out the door, he heard the
stout baker yell, “Squire or not, I’ll box your ears if
you don’t watch where you’re going, boy!” The
kitchen staff had not changed their attitude toward the boy, whom
they considered one of their own, beyond feeling proud of his
achievement.

Pug shouted back with laughter in his
voice, “My apologies, Mastercook!”

Alfan gave him a good-natured wave as
Pug vanished through the outside door and around the corner to where
Tomas was waiting. Tomas turned toward the gate as soon as he saw his
friend.

Pug grabbed his arm. “Wait. Has
anyone from the court been told?”

“I don’t know. Word just
came from the fishing village a moment ago,” Tomas said
impatiently. “Come on, or the villagers will pick the wreck
clean.” It was commonly held that salvage could be legally
carried away before any of the Duke’s court arrived. As a
result, the villagers and townsfolk were less than timely in
informing the authorities of such occurrences. There was also a risk
of bloodshed, should the beached ship still be manned by sailors
determined to keep their master’s cargo intact so that they
would get their fair sailing bonus. Violent confrontation, and even
death, had been the result of such dispute. Only the presence of
men-at-arms could guarantee no commoner would come to harm from
lingering mariners.